#have to share the major parts on my vent

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

i feel like it's also worth adding that these grown ass women with jobs and families risked losing those things and going to jail for the crime of creating, sharing, and engaging with gay fiction. read that again. read it a third time.

a huge factor in the boom of positive, well-written queer representation we've had in the last decade or so is that creators who grew up in and were influenced by fandom have aged into positions to push for it in the professional creative sphere. audiences who grew up in fandom aged into the group where they could contribute money to those projects, now that the door was finally open; audiences who were already in that bracket, and had been desperate for decades for decent queer rep to put support behind, jumped at the chance. people like to brush it off as ~not that deep~ and act like it's ~terminally online~ and ~cringe~ to pretend fandom--let alone shipping specifically--has any kind of meaningful influence. but it has had a powerful, demonstrable positive impact going back more than half a century, and none of that would have been possible if the infrastructure of modern fandom hadn't already been made.

women who put everything on the line--put in money and blood and sweat and tears and fear for their entire goddamn lives--to build our spaces in secret have done a hell of the fuck a lot more for the representation of queer love in fiction than any of you shitheads whining about how fandom is too shipping-focused, how these hags belong in the kitchen should be doing their taxes and raising their children instead of '''invading fandom spaces.''' these women did genuine actual fucking grassroots activism against systemic oppression so you, the assholes in the audience, could sit on your ass and reap the benefits while you actively contribute to the resurgence of that systemic oppression, no less.

do your research, put your money where your mouth is to contribute a tenth of what these women did for society, or shut the fuck up.

I know "60s housewives who invented slash fanfiction" has taken on a life of its own as a phrase, but Kirk/Spock didn't really exist until the 70s and THOSE WOMEN HAD JOBS. They were teachers and librarians and bookkeepers and scientists and they damn well spent their own money going to conventions, printing zines, buying fanart and making fandom happen. Put some respect on their names.

[exhaslo]

Kinktober Day 20- Roommate!Miguel x Reader

*Requested by Reader ;) *

        It was your third year of college and you had decided to get one of the dorm houses right next to the college. Finally! No more small apartment in a large dorm hall; no more random fire alarms because someone didn't know how long to cook popcorn; no more being locked out of your dorm room because you were in a shared bathroom; and finally, no more loud and obnoxious roommates. Having this house meant that you picked your roommate. You had your freedom.

        What better than a roommate who is going to have their heads stuck in the books or at the library? You interviewed so many people, but only one caught your attention as the perfect roommate. 

Miguel O'Hara

         The man was not only eye candy, but one of the smartest students on campus. Correction, he was the smartest student. You were surprised when he was in the hunt for a roommate. The two of you got along and you decided to go with him. All you ever heard about him was either girls wanting to fuck him, or that he was a hardass who kept his head in the books. A perfect roommate.

         Things were going smoothly for the first few months. You barely saw him due to your conflicting schedules, but he kept his part of the house clean. There was never any loud noise from his room, nor was there any reason to complain. The only little issue you were having was that he was too fucking sexy.

        Lord did the impure thoughts start when you saw him exit the shower one day. You swore drool was coming out of your mouth as you stared at him. You would have never thought that Miguel was so fit. No wonder why all the girls on campus wanted to date him. The man had a body of a god!

"Perhaps I should charge a fee," Miguel said, waking you from your trance. Your face was flustered,

"Sorry! I was just surprised!" You admitted, hiding your embarrassment. 

"Surprised it took you long enough to know why I like to hide here instead of the library?" You could have sworn you saw a smirk on his face, "Midterms are coming up. Let me know if you need help...studying."

        Oh man, you were embarrassed. Since then, Miguel had gotten a little more snarky with you. In a playful manner. Honestly, it felt like he was pulling st your heart strings. The man was smart, hot and a menace to your thoughts. You were ashamed to say that you had thought about your roommate a lot at night as you played with yourself.

        You weren't the only one. Miguel was pumping his dick in his hand every night to the thought of you under him. You were pretty dangerous to be around. Walking around in your underwear and a shirt; laying on the couch; hell, Miguel was even aroused by you cooking dinner. In his eyes, you were already his. He just hadn't sealed the deal yet.

"Argh, I hate men!" You cried out, planting your face onto the couch. Miguel was sitting on the side chair,

"Including me?" He asked, not straying away from his essay. You huffed, face him,

"No..."

"Good, now who do I have to beat up for annoying my precious roommate?"

"Hahaaa, just one of my classmates. We were doing a project and he had the gall to tell me I had no idea what I'm doing. I fucking major in the subject!"

       As you were venting, Miguel was staring at you. He found it cute how red your cheeks got when you were angry. How tight your clothes were against your body. Miguel wanted to see you strip. To get lazy and comfy. It was something only for his eyes to see. He moved his laptop over his bulge, wanting to hide the fact that he was getting turned on from just staring at you.

"And then he had the absolute nerve after all that to ask me out! Like, why would I want to date a rude snob like him?! After I said hell no, he called me a bitch and went to shit talk me to his friends!" You whimpered, tears threatening to spill. 

        Miguel immediately went to your aid. He brought you a box of tissues, sitting beside you now. You rested your head against his shoulder, trying your best to not cry.

"I can beat him up for you, amor. (love). You can do so much better."

"Haha, thanks Miguel."

---------------

          After that, you went back to your hard studies since Finals were around the corner. That boy who had bothered you prior stopped bothering you completely. In fact, he avoided you. It was strange, but you were happy about it. All you needed was to pass your classes. Miguel helped you study for midterms, perhaps he was willing to help you again for finals?

        You were sitting in your shared living room, waiting for Miguel's class to get out. You were getting frustrated from trying to figure out stuff from another class. Glancing at the time, you inhaled deeply. There was still plenty of time before Miguel came home, you could use a little destress. Laying against the couch, you spread your legs and began to rub your clit was massaging you breast.

"Mhm, Miguel," You closed your eyes, imaging that it was Miguel toying with your body.

        Raising your hips, you started to feverishly rub your clit. Whines coming out as you desperately wanted Miguel to touch you. You lowered your fingers to your aching hole, doing your best to finger yourself.

"Miguel!" You whined.

"Fuck," Miguel groaned as he walked through the door. You gasped loudly, fixing yourself, 

"M-Miguel!? Y-Your c-class-?!" You panicked. Miguel hurried to your side,

"Don't you fucking stop now." He groaned, his hands making haste into your shorts, "Fuck, hearing your moans when I walk in. Cómo puedo contenerme? (How can I hold myself back?)"

       You gasped as Miguel had you pinned to the couch. His hands quickly replaced yours and he entered two digits into your wet cunt. You moaned, arching your back into the couch as he pumped his fingers roughly. Your pussy clentching down against his hand whike your hips moved against his palm. His fingers were so thick, bigger than some of your toys. He was already stretching you out.

"Hah, ah, M-Miguel..." You whimpered a moan as he curled his fingers. Miguel licked his lips,

"Qué hermoso. Tu cuerpo se está desmoronando por mi culpa. (How beautiful. Your body just falling apart because of me.)" You trembled as you reached your first orgasm, "What a naughty roommate. Teasing me so much."

        You panted heavily, never experience an orgasm like that before. You followed Miguel's gaze, watching him undo his pants as he licked his fingers. His pupils almost looked blown once he had a taste of you. It made you wetter. Finally, all of those wet dreams you've had of fucking your roommate was about to come true. Miguel cussed lowly as his belt got in the way.

"I never seen you this stressed," You teased, helping him undo his pants, "How long have you been wanting this?"

"Why do you think I became your roommate?" Miguel watched your reaction towards his large dick, "You?"

"Before midterms,"

        You stroked his dick with both hands. His low rumbling groans were turning you on more. You brought your lips to his tip, licking the precum that had started to drip. You winced at the salty taste but continued to suck him. Miguel's hand rested on your head as you bobbed your head against him. It was difficult and you could not take him fully, but Miguel seemed to enjoy it. Tears formed from the corner of your eyes as Miguel forced your head lower.

        Muffling against his dick, Miguel stopped, allowing you to breathe. You crawled over his lap, positioning his dick over your soaked hole. Miguel held your hips and placed you on your back before entering. The two of you moaned in unison. Miguel held your legs up as he stretched you out. Miguel was destroying your pussy and he hadn't even moved yet. You gripped the couch's blanket, raising your hips as he kept pushing himself inside.

"Looks like you need help with your finals," Miguel groaned, watching your pussy suck his dick as he finally fit his whole length, "Let me start by teaching this naughty pussy a lesson."

"Mhm, p-please," You begged. Miguel pulled back then slapped his length into you with force, "Ah~!" You cried out.

"Qué compañera de cuarto más cachonda. ¿A punto de romperse después de un solo empujón de mi polla? Tu coño fue hecho solo para mí. Mira lo mojada que estás, sólo para mí. (What a slutty roommate. About to break after just one thrust of my dick? Your pussy was made just for me. Look at how wet you are, just for me.)"

"M-Miguel!" 

        You gasped for air as he fucked your brains out. Each thrust was bringing your orgasm closer and closer. Miguel grabbed your breasts, playing with them as he sucked on your collarbone. His dick pounding you relentlessly. He had his body pinned against you like an animal in heat, refusing to let you go. You wrapped your arms around his neck, moaning into his ear as you reached another orgasm. Miguel shivered in delight and decided to reward you. He slammed his cock a few more times, filling your womb with his cum.

"Looks like you're going to need a lot more lessons, cariño (sweetheart). But don't worry, I won't charge my dear roommate."

"Y-You better not." You huffed. Miguel smirked as he gave you another slap of his dick, "W-Wait~ Mhm, d-don't...d-do that." Your whines turned into moans as Miguel kept abusing your poor cunt.

"After waiting this long, you really don't think I'm not going to fuck you dumb? Gotta make sure I keep tutoring you."

"Hah, hah, y-yes," You replied, throwing your head back in pleasure.

        You did not care how many times you needed to ask Miguel for help. You knew that he would tutor you seriously. It was your payment that you really looked forward too. Anytime either of you were stressed, you two had some of the best sex. When it was time to renew your lease for the house, both you and Miguel did not hesitate to agree. Miguel was the perfect roommate. Perfect boyfriend. You were not letting go of him, and neither was he of you.

[jinkoh]

leave a mark

changmin x reader

part of my soulmate series

tags: soulmate au (sharing bruises), smut - mdni, enemies to ?, possessive!changmin, beginning seems angsty but it's rlly just smut lol, fingering & oral (r!receiving), piv sex, edging, (overstimulation), dacryphilia, sliiight choking, praise; warnings: alcohol consumption, no pronouns but reader has a vagina, petnames: babydoll, doll

wc: 3.3k

a/n: i thought all parts of this series would be really angsty but somehow this one accidentally became pure filth instead 🤡 enjoy 🤡 ((also i don't usually write things this explicit so pls bear with me))

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“I think I want to break up.”

“What?” You stared at your boyfriend in utter confusion, unable to grasp what he was saying. For all you knew it’d been going great.

“I just can’t do it anymore. I mean you can’t really expect me to be okay with that, right?” His gaze dropped to your neck and you self consciously covered it with your hand. “At first I thought I could get over it, but I can’t help feeling disgusted.”

“Disgusted?!” 

“It’s just—I know he didn’t technically leave those hickeys, but it still feels like he did and frankly, it leaves a gross after taste. It almost makes me feel dirty to touch you.”

You looked at him in exasperation. “It makes you feel dirty?” Sure, it wasn’t ideal to have someone else’s hickeys appear on your lover’s neck, but it wasn’t like anyone had actually touched you. It was just silly bruises, marks that your soulmate had gotten and that transferred onto your skin. It had nothing to do with you. Why couldn’t your boyfriend understand that?

“I’m sorry, y/n. I just can’t.” He shrugged. “But you still have your soulmate, right? It might just work out for you.”

And with that, he left you. You couldn’t even cry about it because all you felt was sizzling anger. You still had your soulmate? Seriously? How could he say that when your soulmate was clearly getting it on with other people? But of course, your boyfriend, ex-boyfriend, didn’t know the whole truth, maybe he would have acted differently then. Because you already knew who your soulmate was and there was no way things were going to work out between the two of you. Not when the reason you found out in the first place was a hickey left on his skin, not when he kept getting new ones even after you told him it bothered you. Hell, he probably even encouraged his partners to leave a mark just to get under your skin. Or on your skin, you supposed. No, it was never going to work out between you and Ji Changmin, because there was not even the slightest bit of affection you held for him, and if you could you would cut this connection fate had forced upon you.

But you couldn’t so you did the next best thing: Vent your anger.

Changmin didn’t seem very impressed though, when you confronted him after a shared lecture. He simply shrugged, before shoving his things into his bag.

“The trash carries itself out,” he said nonchalantly.

“As if you hadn’t played a major part in all of this. The trash didn’t carry itself out. You basically showed him to the door.”

“At least you’re admitting that he was trash,” Changmin smiled self satisfied and you hated that you got caught in his trap. He didn’t give you time to argue though before he continued, “I’m just saying if he actually loved you, he would have stayed, marks be damned. It’s not like you cheated on him, so what reason was there for him to leave? Unless of course, he was never serious in the first place.”

It was so unnecessarily mean of him to say. But what made it worse was that you couldn’t even tell if he had a point or not and you weren’t even sure how to feel about it if he did. Because at the end of the day, did you actually want your ex-boyfriend to be serious about you? Had you been serious about him? You didn’t know.

“You’re taking it too far,” you pressed out, at a loss of what else to say and unwilling to address the uncomfortable mix of emotions plaguing you. “Don’t you care about how I’m feeling at all?”

“It’s not that I don’t care, it’s just that you don’t seem all that heartbroken. But of course,” A small grin tugged on his lips and he opened his arms. “You’re always welcome to cry into my chest if you’re in need of comfort.”

“Fuck you, Changmin.” You turned to leave, unwilling to give him another second of your attention. He didn’t seem particularly rattled.

“You know I have others who do the job,” he yelled after you, his tone light and cheerful. Somehow he always seemed to be in the best possible mood whenever you confronted him about things like this. A small voice at the back of your mind whispered that perhaps, it would be better to just stop confronting him then. Surely this was only so fun to him because you never failed to give him a good reaction. You knew that so well, and yet you could never help yourself.

When you told your friend Hyunjae about the break up, he insisted he had just the right thing to cheer you up: a party on the weekend that one of his frat guy friends had invited him to. That usually wasn’t really your crowd and Hyunjae knew that well. But he also knew you needed distraction and a place to let off some steam so he wasn’t surprised when you agreed to tag along. It seemed to be working well, your mood drastically improving with the music and games and dancing, and admittedly also the alcohol. But then, while you were looking for Hyunjae in the living room to convince him to team up with you for beer pong, your gaze fell onto someone else: Changmin. He was standing at the other end of the room, leaning against the wall and very busy with some girl. She had her hands in his hair, clinging onto him almost desperately. Meanwhile his arms were loosely resting around her waist and something about it seemed so haughty, as if he was just indulging her and her desire, kissing her because she was available and not because it needed to be her. It made you feel gross.

You knew you needed to look away, or else he was bound to notice your staring, but you just couldn’t. The way he was entangled with her made your blood boil. How could he keep having his fun like this while you were left all alone just because of him? It was infuriating and even more infuriating was his expression when he looked up and met your gaze. For a second there was surprise there, breaking the kiss to look at you with wide eyes. But then he grinned, tilting his head as if to ask what you were looking at and even though you hated everything about it, it also filled you with a strange heat. You glared back at him, trying your best to hide the unwanted feeling in your guts, until his gaze flickered to your neck. He looked smug. You noticed then, that his hook-up had seamlessly moved on to his neck, probably sucking and nibbling on his skin. You instinctively slapped your hand over your neck to cover up before rushing out to find a bathroom, your head flushed with heat. When you reached the bathroom you slammed the door behind you. Without bothering to lock up, you stormed to the mirror to examine your neck—and find it empty and clean, free of any marks. It didn’t make sense. You were sure, he’d looked at your neck, and why would he if not because of a hickey?

“Disappointed?” a voice suddenly sounded from the doorway. 

You already knew it was Changmin, even before seeing him through the mirror’s reflection. You turned around to him with a glare. “You’re supposed to knock before coming in. The door was closed for a reason.”

“Right, sorry,” He chuckled, lightly knocking against the door frame. “Can I come in?”

“No!”

He stepped in anyway, pulling the door shut behind him. “Should have locked the door then if you really didn’t want me to come in,” he said with a grin and you heard the lock click as he turned it. You felt your breathing hitch with a weird sense of anticipation that you tried your best to ignore.

“I wouldn’t have to, if you had some basic manners.”

Changmin smiled as he slowly came closer. You instinctively backed away, but just a single step already had you bumping into the sink. He came to a halt right in front of you, only inches between the two of you. “Maybe you have to teach me some,” he suggested in a whisper that made a shiver run down your spine. 

“Well, first of all,” you started, but it was hard to focus with his intense gaze on you.

“First of all?”

“Knock before coming into the bathroom.”

“Noted,” his eyes wandered over your face as if he was just going to devour you whole and you wondered if he was listening to you at all. “What else?”

“Don’t—don’t let your hook ups leave hickeys anymore.”

“Mhm,” he hummed, a thoughtful frown on his face. “That poses a bit of a challenge. You see, I just love to see you all marked up.”

You knew you should be feeling angry at him for making you go through hell for his own entertainment. It was hypocritical and cruel how he had all the fun he had with who knows who, while simultaneously trying to make it impossible for you to be with someone. So, of course you should be feeling angry. And yet, strangely, his words made your skin flush with heat, the thought that he wanted to mark you more enticing than it should have been.

“Find another way then,” you breathed more than you really said it. 

He looked at you for a long second. “Should I?”

You didn’t reply, but the way you held his gaze without shying away gave him all the answer he needed. He leaned in, and you thought he would kiss you, but instead his lips grazed your neck, his ticklish breath leaving goosebumps in its wake. His mouth barely even ghosted over your skin before he suddenly bit down, making a gasp escape your lips. As if to soothe you, he pecked the spot right after, sweet gentle kisses against the barely bruised skin. Then he pulled away and admired his work for a moment.

“So pretty,” he said with a satisfied smile. When he tilted his head to look at you, you noticed the small red mark on his neck, a shadow of the bruise he’d just given you a second ago. For some reason it filled you with a sense of accomplishment that for once he was the one wearing your mark, even if he was the one who’d left it on you first. You absentmindedly lifted your hand and traced the spot with your fingertips.

“Isn’t it?” He asked.

At his words you snapped out of it, realizing how easily you’d surrendered yourself to him. You flinched away and averted your gaze. “Not particularly.”

“Hm,” he chuckled. “Liar.”

His hands found your hips to turn you around, making you look at your own reflection. He brushed your hair out of the way before his fingers traced the mark he left. You couldn’t quite explain, but somehow it looked different from the ones you had before. Maybe because this one was real, an actual bruise on your skin and not just the traces someone else had left.

“You like it too, don’t you?” 

He leaned in again and you watched through the mirror as his lips brushed over your skin again. Maybe you should have pushed him away, but instead you tilted your head to give him access, as he left another mark on you. You couldn’t take your eyes off the way he seemed to devour you whole, and the way he met your gaze through the mirror made shivers run down your spine.

“So pretty,” he whispered again. His hands were back on your hips, pulling you into him. “What do you say we take this elsewhere, hm?”

You swallowed thickly at the feeling of him against you, the implications making the air feel heavy. “Yeah. Okay,” you agreed, turning around in his arms to face him directly. “Let’s leave.”

His grin was so utterly self satisfied, like the cat who got the cream, but you couldn’t even feel pissed about it, not when his thumb grazing the skin beneath your shirt made you feel so impatient for more.

“Okay, let’s leave,” he repeated your words before leaning down to brush his lips against yours in a slow kiss that made you feel weak in the knees. Then he reached for your hand, pulling you with him.

Back at his place Changmin didn’t waste any time on small talk or offering drinks. Instead you found yourself falling onto his mattress, his shirt and most of your clothes discarded on the floor not even a minute after walking in. Changmin was hovering above you, a hungry gleam in his eyes.

“I’ve been thinking about this a lot,” he said, his hands roaming over your body. “Have you?”

“No,” you said, your voice breathy from the ticklish feeling of his fingers against your skin.

“Is that so?” He tilted his head. “Well, after I’m done, you’ll be unable to think of anything else.” 

You wanted to make a sassy comeback, tell him that you doubted he could change your opinion of him so drastically just because you were giving in this one time. But then his lips were back on your neck and his fingers were dipping into your embarrassingly wet panties and the only sound that came out of your mouth was a gasp. It was unfair how easily he rendered you speechless, your brain becoming muddled the second he touched you. 

“See?” Changmin grinned, as one of his fingers slowly pushed into you. “You already can’t think of anything else.”

 Your hands clung to his shoulders, when he started moving, quickly finding the right angle. You didn’t want to think about how many girls he must have been with before this to make moans fall from your lips this easily. “Shut up already,” you whimpered.

“Should I use my mouth for something else then?” He asked, pulling his hand out of your panties and licking the wet off his fingers. You felt your skin burn with need and desire, and you almost instinctively opened your legs a little more, making him chuckle.

“I’ll take that as a yes, hm?” He leaned down to kiss you, making you taste yourself on his tongue, before he pulled away again and letting his lips wander further down. His fingers hooked underneath your panties, pulling them down your legs and letting them fall to the floor. He didn’t leave you exposed for long though, his mouth taking their place instead. The moan you let out when his tongue flicked over your clit was straight up pornographic and you felt him grin against your skin. “So needy,” he hummed, the vibrations making you shiver, before his tongue went back to work. 

He had you whimpering and shivering beneath him embarrassingly fast, his tongue and lips and hands moving just the right way to make that familiar knot build up within you. Before you could come though, he pulled away, a dirty smirk on his face. “Not yet,” he said, his lips moving to your inner thigh instead and sucking hickeys into your skin until you’d calmed down just enough. He kept you on edge that way, building up your high time and time again without ever letting you have it.

“Why?” you whimpered when he robbed you of yet another orgasm, leaving you a desperate mess. You felt overstimulated and deprived at the same time and it made tears well up in your eyes.

“Don’t cry, babydoll,” Changmin whispered comfortingly, as if your misery wasn’t all his fault to begin with. He came back up, his thumb gently wiping away a tear that’d decided to spill out. 

 “I just wanna—why won’t you let me?”

“Because I need you to come around me, of course.” He rolled his hips against you, and you felt him through the fabric of his pants.

“Then hurry,” you whined. “Hurry up.”

“If you insist,” Changmin grinned, making quick work of his pants.

You let out a whimper when he lined himself up with you, overly sensitive and oh so impatient for him to finally push in.

“Hurry,” you complained again and it drew a chuckle out of him, his eyes twinkling mischievously when he finally granted your wish. He pushed in painfully slow, but with the way you’d been teased this whole time it was almost enough to tip you over the edge. By the time he bottomed out, you had tears brimming in your eyes again, more from being overstimulated than any pain or discomfort.

“Aw, crying again?” he cooed. “You’re doing so well though.” He slowly moved his hips back, pulling almost all the way out, just to slam back in in one quick motion that made you see stars. “See? Taking me so well, like you were made just for me.”

His hand came up to your neck, caressing the bruises he’d left on you. “I guess you were, though,” he whispered close to your ear, as he put just enough pressure on your throat to make it feel exciting. “All mine, meant to be all mine.”

He started thrusting into you then, picking up a brutal pace that took away any coherent thought you’d still had left. “All yours,” you babbled, barely even able to grasp the meaning of the words. “All yours.” 

It barely took any time for that familiar high to build up within again and you almost thought he would take it away from you again. But when you met his gaze, eyes glazed over and desperate, he gently cupped your cheek and wiped your tears with his thumb.

“You can come, doll, it’s okay.”

It didn’t take more than that for you to tip over, your nails digging into his shoulders as you let out a string of moans and curses. He helped you ride it out, only stalling when the overstimulation made you beg for him to stop.

“You did so well,” he whispered, his lips leaving kisses on your neck while you were trying to catch your breath. Once you’d calmed down a bit you thought he’d pull out but he showed no intention of doing so.

“Changmin?”

He looked at you through hooded eyes, slowly rolling his hips into you. “You can still go on, right?”

The next morning you stared at your own reflection in his bathroom mirror. You’d been meaning to take a shower and then secretly sneak out while he was still asleep, but now you were finding yourself in too much disbelief to do so. You’d thought the hickeys you’d gotten before were bad, but those were nothing against the marks and bruises that littered your body now. Your shoulders looked especially bad, deep red scratches and even bite marks adorning your skin. With a shake of your head you wrapped yourself in a towel and walked back into the bedroom.

“This is a joke, right?” you complained the second you opened the door. Changmin’s head popped up from somewhere in the blankets, gazing at you with sleepy eyes and ruffled hair. “Mhm?” he grumbled.

“I get it, you like leaving marks, but you didn’t have to overdo it like this,” you said, turning your shoulder for him to see. “Like, seriously? Biting?”

Changmin rubbed his eyes and yawned and you tried to ignore how cute he looked. 

“Shouldn’t you at least apologize?”

He tilted his head taking a closer look at your shoulder before a smile spread on his lips. “But doll,” he pulled down the blanket to show his own shoulder that looked even worse than yours, “these are from you.”

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[stonesilhouette]

Feline Fiasco

Hetalia x Reader

This is written for a female reader but there isn't really anything specific that would suggest that besides a few references. If you want to read, I'm not going to stop you.

Also (Y/n) is completely uninterested in the countries for the majority of this, all she's interested in is the cats. This is way fluffier than anything else I've posted, which is two things, and this part is relatively America-centric because (Y/n) works for him. This is also way less quality work than those two posts but idk deal with it?

There is more to this but it's unfinished and I'll probably never post it. My friend also helped with the cat names so if you don't like them... uh assume that they chose them. One last note, I thought it would be funny to write the accents so you also have to deal with that.

As one of the many secretaries working in the White House, it was actually quite a surprise to you that you ended up as the main secretary to the human personification of the U.S.A.

Because of this, you had become quite close to Mr. F. Jones and more importantly: his cat.

You couldn't help but coo at the adorable and floofy feline. Sure, you should probably finish filing those papers, but national security can wait a few more minutes. Besides you couldn't resist the allure of the purr. It would be an understatement to say, when you learned that the other personifications also had furry friends of their own, you were excited.

America didn't want you interacting with the other countries, especially not Russia. But you honestly didn't care and you weren't the recording secretary for those meetings, so it's not like you were in attendance anyways. That somehow didn't stop you from having to tag along and meeting more nation cats; of which you weren't sure why they had brought them along in the first place. It's not like you were complaining.

Ball of fur after ball of fur. No cat went un-petted. Except for Germany's cat; he had evaded you time and time again. But no longer! For today was the last day and you were going to pet that cat if it was the last thing you did.

There it was. It's sleek black fur, the ribbon in Germany's signature colors around its neck, and that always alert look on its face. He would evade you no more. You crouched down in your very inflexible pencil skirt and prepared to pounce.

"Vhat are jou doing?" A voice thick with a German accent called out, startling you and the cat who decided to bound back towards him and into his arms.

"Uhhhh." You blanked.

"You're America's secretary right? Vat vere jou trying to do to my cat?" He questioned, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

You gulped and tried to explain your actions in a way that didn't sound absolutely ridiculous.

"I-uh. I wanted to pet your cat and… he kept evading me and I thought if I snuck up on him that I could pet him." You looked away and pitifully whispered, "Sorry."

"If jou vanted to pet him, all you had to do was ask."

"Really!?" Your eyes lit up and you looked up at the German with pure and unbridled excitement. He coughed and looked away with a slight blush resting on his cheeks.

"Of course." He held the cat out. You, with no hesitation whatsoever, immediately started to adore and love the cat, even shifting it from Germany's arms to your own.

As you continued to pet the cat, who despite his earlier refusal, seemed quite happy, you asked Germany a question. "My name's (Y/n). What's yours if you're willing to share? No pressure though."

His eyes widened a bit before he shook it off and gave you an answer. "Ludwig Beilschmidt." He responded, studying his cat. "Germouser seems to like jou."

You could barely stifle a laugh at the name he had given to the black cat. He sensed your amusement and gave an explanation.

"Feli- Italy named him. I vas going to name him Johann or something similar. Italy was zoroughly horrified by my suggestions and vould not rest until I vent vith his."

You smiled at the Italian's antics and shook your head with amusement. "Germouser is a fine name for an absolutely wonderful cat."

Germany seemed to get flustered again as he watched you coo at his cat, completely ignoring his presence. He would have just left him with you, but the meeting was starting soon and he didn't want to be late. Luckily for him, America decided to pop around the corner, demanding your attention. So you were forced to give up the precious kitty cat and return with Mr. Jones.

Alfred was annoyed. Not at you but at everyone else. Why did they have any right to be around you? You were an American citizen. His citizen. Sure, all you were really interested in was their cats. But what if you thought that they and their cats were so cool that you left him and went to live in a different country instead? He couldn't let that happen.

"So, (Y/n), dude, broette." He said on the way to the meeting room. "Here's the deal."

You gave him a look and raised an eyebrow.

"I need someone to watch Hero for me and my sitter flaked so you're gonna be watching him." He fingered-gunned at you and stars seemed to shine in the air around him. This, of course, was nothing new to you. It wasn’t like you would have rather been attending the meeting anyways.

So you stayed in a different unoccupied meeting room with a lovely, furry friend. It wasn't until he started hissing at a corner that you were in trouble.

"Hero, what's wrong?" You asked, concerned at the agitated cat. His tail bristled up and his ears flattened down as he took a defensive position. Out of nowhere another fluffy cat waltzed in from the very corner that Hero had been hissing at. It was Boris, a cat that belonged to Russia.

You hadn't actually gotten to pet him yet because to be honest, you were also scared of Russia. But… He wasn't around… and his cat was. And his cat was purring.

That was about all the reasoning that you needed to brush past Hero and scoop Boris up into your arms. The former started yowling for your attention and followed you as you went to sit down with the Russian cat.

You laid down on the plush carpeted floor and lifted the cat that you were holding up above you. Boris’ fluffy body was placed onto your chest and he immediately started purring louder once he got comfortable. He nuzzled his face into your neck, much to the annoyance of the American cat. Hero yowled at you and pawed at Boris, desperately trying to get him off.

Boris only gave him a smug look in return and kneaded into you, further solidifying his spot. Hero decided that it wasn’t worth the fight and that he was going to get his owner to remove the Russian cat and put him back into his mother’s lap: aka you.

The surprisingly smart and agile cat leapt around the room and pushed down the door handle, slipping out through the crack. You didn’t notice this as you were currently immersed in the bliss of a cat sitting on you and letting you pet it.

Eventually the purring lulled you into a peaceful and warm slumber, the two of you deciding to take a cat nap.

It would be Russia who found you first. Ivan realized that his cat had gone missing and he honestly didn’t care enough about the meeting to stay. It's not like anyone would try to stop him.

So as Hero bounded down the halls towards the meeting room, Mr. Ivan Braginsky came from the other direction; his sense of where his cat was at any one moment was completely uncanny.

The Russian gradually opened the wooden door and it quietly opened without any resistance. He turned his head towards where he heard purring and was met with a surprising sight. It was America’s secretary, with his cat, lying, with his cat.

You were breathing softly and the movements of your chest moving up and down also moved Boris. Ivan couldn’t help but faintly smile at the sight. Said cat opened a singular eye to acknowledge the new presence in the room. He flicked his tail and settled back into his spot. Not wanting to bother you or the cat, Ivan pulled out a chair and sat down. 

He pulled out some paperwork, seemingly from nowhere, and began to work on it. The sounds of your quiet breathing, combined with the light purr from Boris, made for a calming work environment. 

As the three of you remained in peaceful bliss, another kitty cat was running around the corner on the never ending search for food. Itabby trotted up and down the corridors looking for an open door that might lead to some food that didn’t come from England. Her golden fur glimmered as the sun shined through the many windows in the building. She looked over at a door that had opened slightly and was too blinded by the thought of food to notice the scarily familiar scent coming from the room.

Itabby scampered over to the door but screeched and meowed as she was sent flying by an American blonde and his equally irritated cat. She tentatively peered around the door at the scene forming.

“HEY!” Alfred yelled, startling both you and the cat. You shot up straight, Boris falling into your lap. “What are you doing with her?!” He yelled again, getting his face up into Ivan’s. The other man gave him an unamused look and stood up, towering over him. Alfred, despite this, did not back down and continued to stare angrily at him.

“Go away.” The white-haired male said, his accent heavy as he crossed his arms. “You have startled them with your unnecessary noise. You are just like the rest of your country.”

The air tensed and became heavier as the seconds went on. They began to size each other up as Hero, ironically, “heroically” walked proudly over to you and with his front paws, pushed Boris off of your lap. He quickly took his place and started purring. Boris’ fur began to puff up as he hunched down and prepared to pounce. His back legs flexed and he made the jump, sending both him and Hero flying towards their fighting owners, who were remarkably somehow not in a physical fight. Yet.

You very quickly realized that you did not want to be in the middle of  two superpowers fighting and quietly took your leave. (E/c) eyes met feline amber ones and you swept up the cat and made your escape, leaving behind the feuding men and cats.

Itabby snuggled into your arms as you finally slowed down to catch your breath. Her round tail whooshed back and forth as you tiredly walked through the long hallway. The two of you eventually ended up in the rose gardens of the meeting building. The area was well taken care of and beautiful if you did say so yourself. The meeting was taking place in England and Mr. Jones had told you about how the Brit enjoyed gardening, so it made sense as to why it was here.

Speaking of the British, you spotted a fluffy feline shape from the corner of your eye. It was deeper into the gardens and among the trees. Itabby finally decided that it was time to go and return to her owner. She gracefully leaped out of your arms and landed on all fours and trotted off to beg Italy for some pasta. You instead continued your approach to the cat, which at this point, you could tell was a Scottish Fold.

The left side of his face was brown and so was his tail. Alike to his owner, he seemed to have what you assumed were some kind of eyebrows and when he opened his eyes to look at you, his olive eyes stared into yours. He flicked his tail and layed back down onto the wall that he was laying on. His collar jingled as he moved and you quietly moved up to him. On the gold circle attached to the same olive color collar, was a name.

‘Scone’ You thought. ‘Oh my god. This is the most English cat name I have ever seen.’

You almost started laughing but the smoldering glare the cat gave you made you think otherwise. The stone wall was surprisingly cold for the summer sun and as you sat down, you took a look at Scone. He seemed to still be quite grumpy, but he knew you from earlier in the week, so he was not alarmed. You lifted up and moved your left arm forward to start petting him.

Scone was soft and clearly well-taken care of. His fur was clean and had no knots or dirt insight, despite laying around a garden for half a day. You continued your actions and the both of you started to fall back into slumber. Your hand hovered on the back of the feline and your head slumped alongside your body.

It was peaceful. With birds chirping and the wind lightly blowing. There was a river babbling somewhere in the background and it made for a serene scene. The only reason he had let you pet him was because you had fed him earlier in the week. He didn’t have his collar at that point so this was the first time you had gotten his name. Your eyes closed as you recalled the event from a couple of days prior.

The day after the plane landed you were on the hunt for felines. Armed with some cat food, a retractable mouse-on-a-stick and hope, you made your way around the building England had set aside for housing the rampant countries, and byproduct, their cats. France’s cat, Monsieur, was an absolute attention wh-. He really liked attention, and would rub himself against your leg anytime the two of you crossed paths. It’s not like France, or Francis, was much better.

It’s not like you minded petting him. He was adorable after all. The cat, not Francis. But you had wanted to meet as many other cats as you could and so you had to stop by Francis’ room multiple times to drop off Monsieur.

“Je suis désolé.” He said, taking Monsieur out of your arms. “He keeps getting out. But I guess he knows when there’s a lovely lady around.”

You ignored his attempts at flirting and instead scratched Monsieur’s chin one last time before leaving. He purred at you and while you felt bad about leaving him, you were on a mission! Besides, you had a certain Japanese cat to track down. Monsieur meowed at you as you walked down the hallway and if you didn’t know better you’d say so did Francis.

Either way, nothing was going to stop you from petting Tama, Japan’s cat. He was an adorable little black and white feline with the cutest little bob for a tail. You had actually spotted him earlier and was about to go up to him before Monsieur literally jumped into your arms, demanding attention. Of course you weren’t going to say no so Tama quickly left your sight as you went to return Monsieur. 

Wait, isn't Monsieur just sir in French? Oh well there was no time to think about questionable cat names, this building was full of them.

Monsieur wasn’t the only attention whore of a cat. Prussia’s cat, Purrussia, wasn’t much better. He would follow you down hallways and meow with his scratchy meow at you while Austria’s cat, Allegro, whined behind him. He literally tried to jump up at you a few times.

Of course both of them were interrupted when Hero ran straight at you and tackled you like a professional linebacker. You had thought that it was mostly fluff, but no, apparently Hero could pack a punch. He knocked the wind out of you as you fell backwards onto the tiled floor. The cat sat proudly on you and looked around like he was waiting for something or someone. Whoever he was waiting for, however, wouldn’t show up fast enough to see Purrussia return the favor and tackle Hero off of you, much to Allegro’s horror. 

The white cat had a German ribbon as well but it looked like it was fraying at the edges. The reason you were bringing this up was because Hero was currently using one of the edges to try to choke Purrussia and Allegro was using the other to try to pull Purrussia away from Hero. Neither was really working and all it was really doing was making Purrussia more and more agitated.

“PURRUSSIA!!!” A shrill voice yelled out from down the hallway.

The cats stopped their roughhousing to see two of the countries barrelling down towards them. Well Prussia was. Austria was slowly walking over, looking more inconvenienced than anything else.

“Purrussia! Purrussia!” Prussia reiterated, pulling his cat up by its arms. “Did jou vin?!”

Everyone but the two Prussians stared in disbelief at his statement. The albino feline furiously nodded his head and if he could have talked you would have imagined that he would have been saying, ‘I’m awesome!’

Hero angrily meowed down below, as if to oppose Purrussia’s non-verbal statement. Allegro just haughtily licked his paw and stuck his nose up as if to pretend that he was disgusted with their fighting as if he hadn’t just been a part of it. Austria picked up his in-denial cat and you picked up Hero who calmed down as soon as you did. 

“Sorry about him.” You said, brushing his unruly fur down with your hand. “He gets a little competitive.”

“Ja. It’s fine.” Austria said, petting his own cat. “Purrussia is not much better.”

“HEY!” Prussia yelled. “My awesome Purrussia is doing his best! And besides, at least he actually does something!”

“Jour cat picked a fight vith a vall (wall) Gilbert.” Austria sassed.

“Vell jour cat’s piano playing is trash!”

Austria gave a gasp of horror before inching closer to the Prussian.

“Jou take zat back, RIGHT NOW!”

Prussia just laughed, still letting Purrussia’s back paws dangle as he held him like one would a toddler. He got in close to the Austrian’s face, smiling deviously at him.

“Nein.”

He suddenly, while still holding Purrussia, took off, running away from Austria. He wasn’t far behind though and you could hear the man yelling in German all the way down the far corridor.

“Well Hero.” You said, looking down at the cat who had made himself very comfortable. “That was weird.”

He just snuggled closer to you and you sighed. You scratched him once more before heading down the opposite hallway. The destination was clear, before you could continue your cat quest, you’d have to get this one safely back to its owner.

You suddenly snapped back to reality, still sitting on the wall. The sun was now high in the sky and the spot underneath you was no longer cold. You were especially warm as you now had a Scottish Fold sitting comfortably upon your lap. Quietly cooing at the cat, you looked to see if there was any way to escape your furry prison. The most important rule of cats: once a cat sits on you, you’re not moving until they do.

You sighed, legs uncomfortably stiff. Scone was far more content and his bushy tail occasionally brushed against your leg. It was incredibly cute but it didn’t make your back stop hurting from being hunched over for the last half hour.

Voices came from farther within the garden. There were two people currently engaged in a soft conversation. You caught bits and pieces of it; there was a man with a British accent and a man with what you thought was American until you heard him say ‘aboot.’ You couldn’t help but snicker at your own observation, disturbing Scone in the process.

He scornfully meowed at you and you offered pets in an apology. Around the corner turned Scone’s owner and a man who looked incredibly similar to America. They both turned to look at you when the Scottish Fold you were fondling stretched out to impossible lengths and complained like a cat while he did it. England looked down at your lap to see his cat very happily cushioned on your thighs. The man next to him was also holding a cat who again looked very similar to America’s.

They were clearly different though. This man’s hair was more auburn and his eyes were a shade of impossible purple. There was also more of a wave to it whereas America’s hair was as straight as hair comes. Familiarity lit up in your eyes, not for the man however.

“Maple!” You exclaimed, wanting to go to the cat but also not willing to disturb the one on you. “How have you been?”

The men stared at you, wondering if you were talking to them or the cat. Of course Maple himself answered this as he jumped out of his owner’s arms and darted over to you. He gracefully climbed up the small wall and placed himself down by you. Scone was on your lap and he was nicer than Hero so as to not push him off. You moved one of your arms to pet Maple and kept the other on Scone. They were so cute you felt like you were going to explode.

“Oh.” A quiet voice spoke out. It came from the man behind England. “You’re Alfred’s secretary right?”

You smiled and nodded at the man. “And I assume that means you’re Canada, right?”

He looked a tad taken aback before nodding himself. “Yeah…” He trailed off and England instead picked up the conversation.

“I thought you were supposed to be watching his furrball cat, Hero.” He walked over and leaned against the wall.

“I was. But then he and Boris got into a catfight… and then America and Russia got into a catfight.”

Canada laughed in the background but quickly covered it up. England stared at Scone, looking to see if there was anyway to get him off of you without being scratched himself. He had enough injuries, that should have scarred had he not been a country, from the cat. He shivered a bit, though also began to pet the feline, scratching his under the chin.

“That sounds like those two.”

You hummed in agreement, continuing your affections. Canada also came over to pet his own cat who ironically did smell like maple syrup. 

“Can I make you the villain of this story?” You asked England, gesturing to Scone. “I do actually have somewhere I need to be.”

“Oh I suppose I can assume that role.” He mused, carefully picking up his cat. He was not happy to be moved but England just shushed him.

Canada also picked up his cat who was slightly nicer about the whole thing. He fidgeted with Maple’s ear as he held him.

“I’m Matthew.” He said, carefully shifting Maple so he could put one arm out to shake your hand.

You finished the formal greeting. “I’m (Y/n).”

The other blonde butted in from the background. “I’m Arthur, love.”

“It’s very nice to formally meet both of you. Seeing you from across a meeting room doesn’t really count.” You smiled and gave a small pat to each of the feline’s heads. “Well I wasn’t kidding about needing to get somewhere. I really didn’t mean to get stopped as long as I did.” 

You playfully glared at the Scottish Fold sitting comfortably in his owner's arms. He promptly ignored you, instead turning around cutely. England apologized but you told him it was fine. You were at least 50% sure that Mr. Jones was probably still fighting with Russia. Those two really were like angry cats. You waved the two men off and went on your way to find out the answer to that question.

Instead of coming across two feuding superpowers, you came across two of the Asian nations’ cats. You had already met them both but this was the first time you were seeing them together. Tama was sitting up high on a shelf while China’s cat, Meowzedong, was angrily meowing at him from down below. Everytime he tried to climb up, Tama would use a paw and swipe a book or other object down at him.

You flinched as a very breakable, very expensive-looking, vase crashed down. It was this movement that alerted the two cats to your presence and Meowzedong wasted no time at all to come over to you and complain. Now you couldn’t exactly speak cat but you got the jist.

Bending down, you carefully picked up the cat. Meowzedong always had a weird clump of fur that looked almost like a ponytail that, no matter how much China cut it, always grew back. He yowled at you and pointed a furry paw in Tama’s direction. The other cat had already loafed on top of the high shelf and you looked at him, back at Meowzedong, back at Tama, and then back at Meowzedong again.

“I don’t know how tall you think I am but I’m not that tall.”

Meowzedong just narrowed his eyes and meowed at you again. You sighed, looking back at Tama. If he had a long enough tail to flick it at you he would’ve. Sensing the futility of his quest, Meowzedong instead spread himself out in your arms and if you didn’t know better you would have said that he was mocking Tama. And if you really didn’t know better you’d say that it was working and that the bobtail was getting more irritated by the second. The personifications might have had to act cordial but their cats had no such qualms.

Finally, Tama de-loafed himself and gracefully hopped down a few other layers before reaching the bottom. He gracefully walked over to you and sat on your foot… Well shoot. What were you supposed to do now?

So here you were, from one cat prison to the next. Standing in the middle of some random, out-of-the-way hallway because the nations’ cats were all attention-hogging, though very adorable, brats.

You didn’t know how much time had actually passed. There was no clock in the hallway, you didn’t wear a watch, and both of your hands were occupied so you couldn’t check your phone. As cute as they were, your legs felt like they were about to collapse in on themselves. You couldn’t even shift how you were standing because Tama had taken it upon himself to lay across both of your shoes. Your arms also felt like they were going to fall off at any second. Meowzedong wasn’t a particularly heavy cat but try holding anything over five pounds for longer than five minutes.

You were desperately hoping that either they would finally get bored and leave or someone would come to save you. Wow you guessed you really did need a “Hero” right about now… Dammit you thought that referencing needing a hero in your head would magically summon America or his equally hotheaded cat.

“Tama. Meowzedong.” You murmured. “Can you please get off?” You hoped to whatever god or gods were out there that they didn’t hear the desperation in your voice. Never show weakness to a cat.

The two cats made eye contact with each other for a moment and seemed to come to an agreement. Meowzedong stretched his body out before jumping onto the ground. Tama did the same but instead greeted Meowzedong when he landed.

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration if you said that you collapsed onto the wooden floor below. You quickly got up however as you didn’t want them to see it as another chance to sit on you. At least not right now. You pulled out your phone to see all of the messages and calls you missed. You had put it on silent while watching Hero and forgot to turn it back to vibrate.

‘Oh my god Mr. Jones called me twenty-three times.’ You thought, frantic. ‘I’m gonna be in so much trouble!’

You raced down the hallway, startling a group of micronations as you went. There was no time to apologize! You had to keep your job! If not for you then for the cats!

Not even thinking to knock you burst open the door where America was staying, side note why wasn’t it locked? And were greeted with the sight of!... Mr. Jones… crying? His cat looked pretty dejected too and was currently hanging himself off the side of the bed like a rug.

“Sir?” His head shot up to look at you.

He quickly snapped his head back away, mushing at his face in an attempt to try to make it seem like he wasn’t crying.

“(Y-Y/n)” He stuttered for a second, before immediately going back to the hero persona. “Where’ve you been!?”

“Are you okay?” You ignore him, instead asking your own question.

You titiled your body to look at what he was looking at… Was that a framed picture of you?!

It didn’t matter because he was very quickly all in your face again. You could see what seemed to be a rapidly healing black eye and a tooth that hadn’t fully regrown in yet as he smiled at you. Just how long was he fighting with Russia for?

You sat him down on his bed, considering if you should even bother getting a medkit for him. Either way you ended up spending the rest of the day with him, watching movies and sitting what you considered a good ways away from each other on the plush couch. He apparently had a nicer room in all of England’s properties from when he used to live there during parts of the year.

Hero filled the gap in-between you of which America was mildly annoyed about. He kept trying to get you to use ‘Alfred’ but you insisted that it was unprofessional. He’d close the gap one day.

[stormblessed95]

Hello,

I hope you have recovered fully or are recovering well.

I only wanted to say this because I am an over thinker and someone needs to tell me to shut up. I don't have any Jikook fans in real life so these are the places I vent.

I think I am either the majority or.the minority depending on which space we are in that thinks and feels that Jikook are distant and have been for a while. I don't think like only because of the car scene. Even when they are taking photos, they aren't doing it like they used to do before. Before if one of them was taking a photo of the two, generally they would be attached at the hips and in each other's face. I didnt notice them doing that in the first two episodes but I also just saw a small clip from Sapporo and they are also taking a pic but they are but distant from each other. I know it might be some miniscule to you but these are few of the instances where I felt that their relationship was beyond friendship.

I know I am over thinking it but I don't know, I don't feel as good about it I suppose. What happened to the Jikook that would literally smooshed their faces together for a photo? What happened to Jikook that were always seen hanging out prior to the hiatus. I heard about them hanging out all the time.

Yes they were busy and I get that. Jimin specially seems to have been super duper busy but he seems to have built a deeper relationship with the Hyung like but kep.a distance from the Maknae line so I am a bit confused I suppose. Out of all the BTS members, I always assumed Jikook were it and nothing would come in between so I am surprised to see work coming in between them?

I still feel like shiiitttt lol but I had to start work today anyway. Thanks for checking in though 💜

Listen, I'm not here to tell you what to think or tell you what your opinion should be. Think whatever you want. I'm sorry to say, but I'm not ever going to be the one to talk you into shipping Jikook. You think they aren't together, that's totally good by me! I hope you still love and support them as BTS, and I hope you have a wonderful day and enjoy any part of the fandom you continue to participate in, including mine if you stick around anyway on my blog.

I'm just here to present facts and let you draw your own conclusions based off that. And sometimes share my opinions about them, but only with the caveat that no one steals MY opinion and must create their own 😉

So for the facts, babygirl (I use as a gender neutral terms), for as many selcas as Jikook took like this:

They took JUST as many like this, which are (edging into opinion territory just a bit here) just the same as the glimpses we've gotten of selcas taken from AYS

Close together for the selfie, but not smushed as close as they could possibly get without just going ahead and crawling inside each other. Just a normal cutesy photo

More facts! As for hanging out prior to the hiatus (where I guess now it's assumed they never saw each other not even once, which is opinion and assumption, not fact), I have a post already done about all the times Jikook were spotted hanging out outside of work (because BTS time is work).

Hint: it's less often than you think

Double hint: they were still glued at the hip, we just know they were because they say and act like they were, not because we got to see or hear about it

Triple hint: it's probably exactly the same now except we know that currently, at this moment, they choose to continue to be glued at the hip for the next 18 months at minimum

I have other posts about their dates too, but this is the one that covers the topic I mentioned above best I think

Work came between them? Is that what they said or is that what you took their words to mean based on your biases and previous assumptions?

Anywho! Thanks again for checking in on me love.

Just a bit of unsolicited advice that you are free to disregard. I think whatever you decide about how you feel about Jikook, you should consider taking an emotional step back from them, just a smidge. Nothing that is only supposed to bring you joy, BTS or any other hobby, should get you feeling so far in your head feeling so conflicted. Good luck, sending you purple hearts! 💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

[honey-minded-hivemind]

I'm back and still a nervous wreck!

I had the stupidest idea and wanted to know what you thought.

For X-Men evolution because I think it fits best there

Reader who wholeheartedly believes in conspiracy theories, reader who doesn't believe mutants are real even when they themselves are one believing that instead the government made up mutants as a lie to genetically enhance people and get away with it. Wiping their memories and leaving them to fend for themselves, they wholeheartedly believe that their memory was altered (when in reality their mutation just mentally messed them up, think like their body releases toxic gasses or something like that readers been breathing it in since they have no control over their mutation and it makes them smell strange one of the many reasons why they have no friends)

So reader goes to the same high school as the X-Men/brother hood but not with either groups from the start, this strange quiet and weird smelling child who rambles about conspiracy theories and while their theories are... Unique they aren't hateful of mutants so the X-Men don't really notice them they blend into the background mumbling to themselves and forgetting where they put their hoodie (it was on the back of their chair)

Reader gets sent to the principals office a lot due to the way they act causing raven to get closer to reader their charming attitude and slightly messed up speech and memory issues making raven into the first platonic yandere eventually having the brother hood keep an eye on them.

I imagine reader sticks with the Brother hood while also not being a part of them just rambling forever about bigfoot or area 51 and the brother hood don't have the heart to tell this strange child that got held back a grade their weird like so many others have.

And when Kurt shows up the X-Men become platonic yanderes Kurt letting them ramble to him during one of the only classes they didn't share with toad at the time (I can never remember when characters in X-Men evolution get introduced I only have a pirated version that takes forever to start so it isn't worth setting up an entire thing just to watch one episode) and so Kurt goes back to the X-Men talking about his strange new friend who Jean and Scott remember seeing around the school, so with interests peeked they start looking into this teen, a teen who's parents never come to parent teacher conferences a teen who has been known to be very good at forging signatures on permission slips doing it for extra cash, a teen whose address is missing from official paperwork thanks to raven and a teen who always comes to school in dirty clothes a teen who doesn't have a phone and uses the library computers, and showers at a 24 hour gym every other day.

And so slowly one by one this child sneaks their way into their hearts and into adoption papers.

I'm writing this as someone who had lived in a house for a majority of my life that was filled with mold I was allergic to my mom promised it wasn't black mold but now I'm realizing it probably was I slept with my head inches from it for years it messed me up in the head, some of the side effects were "mold rage" that's really what it's called and memory issues I kind of used this as a way to vent about what happened in my life, I really didn't mean to do that I'm really sorry you can ignore this if you want typing it out just made it better and spinning it into a fun story was even cooler.

Thank you very much, a nervous wreck of an Anon.

No, no, it's okay, don't worry. I'm sorry you had to experience that, Anon. While I didn't deal with mold, I did once or twice, when I was younger, have a bad hallucination, which I didn't understand, and I believed a few things that seemed crazy (but looking back on now, was caused by stress and trauma). It isn't easy to have your mental health or perception messed with, and it isn't funny, either. (So yes, to anyone reading this ask/drabble, do not ever make fun of or try to trigger a person who has something like Anon or I mentioned. It is NOT, and I MEAN, NOT FUNNY AT ALL.)

Okay, let me see what I can do for you, Anon, maybe call you 🐝Bee or 🐝Wasp Anon? Or maybe 💛 Anon (Yellow Heart Anon)? Let's try this new mutation out-

��� Reader is the sort of person who thought everything had a secret to it. The government? Was run by lizard people or aliens, or had a secret organization who experimented on people. Area 51? Definitely held aliens and maybe eldritch nightmares, and possibly secret evil projects to take over the world. Bigfoot and yeti and dragons? They were all real, they hid in the forests, and were probably nicer than most humans Reader knew. And school was designed to indoctrinate children from an early age, all because of what happened in ancient times, which was overthrowing the king and queen and chopping off their heads. So. Yeah. They they had a lot of ideas.

• They had so many ideas and ways of saying them that their teachers usually sent them to Principal Darkholme, whom wasn't nearly as bad as some people made her out to be! Sue certainly did yell at Reader; no, she just let then ramble for a bit while she looked through their papers (and maybe spied on someone, because this lady can't just be a principal), and gave them a weird look. Not a bad one, no! Just well, not mean but not happy but not annoyed either. Something that made her tell them to come to her if there was a problem, and that some of her students would start taking classes with them.

• Reader liked these new kids! This one guy looked like a toad or frog, and he smelled a bit funny too, less like propane or like the house was in danger, and more like swamps and leaf litter. Maybe he was a frog person! That would be cool! Unless the government caused this, and now it's not so cool and they need to get kicked in the ****... Oh... they can't say that... Oh well. This Peter? Piro? Pietri? guy is really fast and talks a lot too, and doesn't seem to mind showing them all his hobbies, even asking if if have any they want to share with him! Woo, another person to hunt small bug dragons and look for fae with! The giant one is kinda cool, like, he seems unmovable and unbreakable! Is he part whale? Part rock? Part demigod?! Whatever he is, he's strong, and is gentle with them like he is with the Toad guy. The shaky one (he isn't a rock, but he insists he is more rock-like than shaky, which is nonsense) seems to keep people like Duncan and his posse away, so he's pretty chill! And then there's the witch, who's magic and is so awesome and is really red. Maybe she's like, a chaos witch? That would be interesting... maybe she has a coven Reader can try to join...

• Those five let them talk and even chip in their ideas, but then start insisting they're mutants, not magic, or aliens, or government experiments. Reader points out they wouldn't remember that part. That just earns them an odd look, somewhere between sad and worried, but they're back to rambling since they don't need to worry about their friends not knowing certain things. It's okay not to. Reader can't remember certain things either, and they don't always say things how they want to say them, and they aren't wrong for being that way, so their friends aren't wrong for not knowing either.

• They gain a new friend, who turns out to he a blue fuzzy elf. He's funny, and German, and Reader is certain he is part angel, because he's that nice. He talks with them, even shows them his powers, and asks what Reader can do. And Reader laughs, saying they don't really know... He looks at them, says he knows someone who can help, and that's how Reader meets his friends (or family. They seem like a family). Their professor/dad says they're all gifted, and so is Reader, but Reader says that they haven't noticed anything so far. The man says he can read minds, and Reader asks if he can read theirs... The man nods, goes quiet... and he seems to panic, his eyes going sad in the corners and his gaze a bit haunted or winded. The others notice, but Reader doesn't know what's wrong... They're asked to visit them every day, so they can get to know one another, as friends do, and Reader agrees, happy to have more friends!

• It's so odd, meeting so many new people! They've finally gotten everyone's names memorized (it took a few weeks, but it was worth it!) There's Principal Darkholme, who also crossdresses as Mystique (cool, she can change colors and shapes!) There's Todd or Toad, their friend they share classes with and who smells a little weird and is a toad person. There's Pietro and Wanda, twins, who both look very different from each other, like opposites. Lance is the shaky guy who walks them to and from places, and Fred is who is there as back up in case someone gets too close. Kurt is their fuzzy elf friend (who must be part angel), and who smells like sulfur from time to time. The Professor is sweet, if a bit authorative, and tries to make them tea and discover their power. Jean and Scott are two older students who both seem to like the colors red and green and yellow, and they both start driving Reader to where they need to go. Kitty is the one in pink who seems to go phase through things, like some Twilight Zone person, and Rogue is the one in green and black who can do anything. There's also Logan, their old-but-not-old guard/dad man, who growls a lot and smells like leather and seems worried about them. Storm is a goddess, who controls winds and rain and clouds and lightning and snow and sunshine (she's so cool!). And Hank is their friends their dad, who likes science and listens to Reader's theories and tells them someone once thought he was Bigfoot (Reader laughs, and asks how that went, and that Hank couldn't possibly be Bigfoot! They're both entirely different beings, that's absurd!) These people are so nice! They even share food with them! And go to the park! And go to the library!

• The others have tried to convince them they're mutants, not government experiments or aliens or magical beings or demigods, but Reader isn't entirely convinced. How could mutants exist? Wouldn't they look super different from everybody? Or be welcomed? And if not, then everyone is just being a ****... they still can't say that... Oh well. They've tried to argue with them, but each time they cut it off before they start sounding choked up or angry or worried. Reader hopes they're okay. They don't like seeing them upset, and they really, really are trying to do the right thing. They just wished it wasn't so hard on everyone.

• The Professor calls them over one day, saying he's finally figured out what their power is. Reader chuckles, saying they've talked about it before, and that Reader can't have powers. He says that no, he knows what it is, and that they need to sit down. So they do, because they won't argue with him when he seems excited and scared. And he tells them that they emit a toxic gas or fume or mist, which causes hallucinations or ilillusions to those who breathe it in or absorb it. He says they do what they do and act the way they act because for quite some time now they've breated it in nonstop. They're quiet, and they feel worried, and they ask to go home. They don't sleep that night, too scared to go to sleep, too scared to turn off the light, too upset to stop thinking about what might be true or false...

• Their friends don't stop talking to them, but they don't want to talk a lot for the next few weeks. It's hard, and feels hard, and they don't want to think even more about how everything could be a lie and it's all an illusion and how it could be a trick- There's just too much to do, homework to do, reading to attempt, home to go back to, and not enough safety to be blank and to stop thinking for once...

• They call in sick for a few days. They stay where they live, with its old walls and decaying floors and smell of old rot and wood and metal, the creak of the boards and squeaks of the hinges making Reader jolt and jump like they've touched a livewire. Their head hurts now. It hasn't stopped hurting since the Professor told them about their... power. They haven't slept well since then either, the few times they slept full of nightmares, their nights full of tears, their mind struggling to understand why this was happening to them and why it couldn't make sense...

• Principal Darkholme visits them, so does the Professor, but they came in while they'd been in a fitful slumber. Waking up, muttering to themself, weaving into the rooms... they saw them, worried it wasn't real, and were soon being looked over by two worried adults, asking if they're okay, if this is their home, where are their parents, do they need help- And all they can do is let them bring them out of the old place, ending up at one one their homes, where they're given a tea to drink, and they try to settle...

• They soon are told they can be helped. That the adults will be giving them something to take, that it will help them, and they don't want to take it- but they end up having to, because it ends up either taken willingly, or it's slipped into their drink or food, and all they can do struggle as their mind starts experiencing something that feels like a pick trying to shatter it in two... It gets better over time, and for once, they can feel a bit... calmer. Like they're seeing things from a new perspective. And now they aren't sure what to do, with the new thoughts swirling in their head, the new feelings, the new abilities...

• Toad or Kurt or Rogue is usually with them. They keep them company, they make sure they took their medicine, and call the others when Reader starts to panic or feel overwhelmed. Sometimes it's okay, and Reeader can calm down on their own. Other times, their illusions and hallucinations effect everyone, and they have to call the Professor or Jean to walk Reader through shutting it down. They struggle to sleep at night, afraid of monsters in the dark; it leads to Evan or Kitty or Kurt usually throwing a sleepover in your room, hugging you, even promising you'll be okay, that you're strong, that you're safe... Mystique always let's you know it's her, no matter what form she is in, and she makes sure she's there if you need someone someone ground you or keep others away. Hank still does checkups on you, but he never calls you crazy or thinks you're weird, he just smiles at you and says everyone is different, but you're all human, mutant or otherwise, and that it's not an anomaly or wrong to go through what you go through, as it isn't wrong that he's fuzzy and blue, or that Toad smells a bit, or that the Professor can't walk. It's all a part of life, and they're so glad you're experiencing it with them...

(I hope I did this okay, Anon. I did my best, and tried to convey this the best I could. And folks, it is okay to struggle with things like this. You're still human, you are valid, and you matter. Please try to get help if you can, and take care of yourself, okay? You're you, and you're loved💛)

[cbrownjc]

The sad thing is? I predicted this.

Yeah, so I've been gone from Tumblr for a while, I know. I had my major surgery back in the second week of October and have been home recuperating for two weeks now.

But I wanted to come on here tonight to vent a little about the presidential election.

Because even though there was a part of me that dared to hope even just a little, I KNEW this was going to happen. And I called it the minute Joe Biden was forced to drop out of the race, back in July.

This is the text message exchange I had with my sister the day he announced he was dropping out:

And let me make this clear: I'm a born and raised California native. I voted for Kamala Harris for both DA and Senate. I voted for her and very much wanted her to win.

But I know this damn country. I saw how Obama was treated and the freakout and build-up of white supremacy after he won twice. That's why 45 got in in the first place.

And as I said in the text to my sister? Never in the 4 other times that Democrats have replaced a candidate this late in the process has that candidate won. Ever. Only those who've never studied political history thought doing such a thing would actually work.

Anyone who called for Biden to drop out? Congrats, you fell for the most obvious Chaos OP EVER.

I don't usually talk politics on Tumblr. I save that for Twitter. But now that Apartied Clyde has taken it over and this mess has happened, I plan to delete my Twitter account by the end of the week. The only reason I'm not doing it sooner is so that those who only follow me there can catch me before I delete it.

Anyway, I can't even cry or be sad about this. I already went through that stuff when Biden dropped out. I'm just kinda numb. And tired. And disgusted. But, at least thanks to my dad, I feel like I very much saw this coming thanks to his lessons on this country and race/racism. He and my mother both lived through Jim Crow and so yeah, they knew.

"This is not who we are" some are saying.

Yes, it damn well IS who we are. And it's who we've always been. I can give you a history lesson, and I'm not just talking about slavery, civil rights, and the 19th Amendment. I'm talking about Lee Atwater, Nixon, and the Southern Strategy. All that has happened between 2016 and now is a full culmination of that.

A majority of white Americans would rather destroy the American Republic than share equal power with black people. (With misogyny and misogyny thrown in there as well.) I wish I could be surprised by that, but I sadly am not.

And this tweet pretty much sums up my feelings regarding what's next:

I'm still healing from my surgery. Once that's done and I am 100%, it's about me and my loved ones now, protecting the few remaining ones I have left. (I am SO thankful that none of my close family or still-close friends voted for that man . . . but then, the majority of them are black women too, so . . .)

Because this country has pretty much shown black people that we are hated -- and always will be on our own.

Everything my parents and grandparents fought for regarding Civil Rights will be gone now. The only thing I can be thankful for is that none of them are alive anymore to see this.

I NEVER thought I'd live to see the end of the republic but here we are. And done by people willfully voting to give it up because, as I said back in July, a majority of white people in this country would rather destroy the country than share power with black people.

[nyaagolor]

Bad Polls and the Art of Engagement Bait

So as anyone who follows this blog probably noticed, I posted a poll yesterday. Sorry ace attorney tumblr, it was bait. That was part of a little social experiment to test some theories I had about engagement bait and the tumblr "algorithm"-- and it was a resounding success!! I even made a replicate, that being a similar poll only hours later, which had basically the same result. Somehow. Now that the cat is officially out of the bag, I thought it would be fun to talk about it!

The entire point of this little social experiment was to combine some observations I had about what posts do well, the general attitude of tumblr users, and how to maximize engagement with minimal effort within fandom spaces. Thus, I'm combining all my thoughts into a little guide: how to make the lowest effort, highest engagement post possible:

Recognize that negative engagement on tumblr travels father than positive engagement Tumblr may not have an algorithm, but the system is still set up in a way where negative engagement rewards the poster more than positive engagement. A simple "like" is enough to show agreement or approval, but dissent or shock requires replies or reblogs (the latter of which are significantly more common). More reblogs = more people seeing the post, and thus posts that elicit a negative reaction tend to travel further than positive ones

Capitalize on the fact that people love to bitch about things when given the opportunity Generally speaking, going onto a random post you hate and exclaiming how much you hate it is a bit of a tumblr faux pas. Same thing with venting about how much you dislike something. While bringing up the topic yourself and being snippy to specific people are frowned upon, however, places like polls that provide an opportunity to bitch about things are a great outlet, and a LOT of people will take it

Take advantage of the poll's inherent anonymity This may seem counterintuitive-- the person posting the poll and everyone reblogging it aren't anonymous at all! This doesn't matter though, only the votes do. The anonymity of the votes on a tumblr poll turn the opinions of others, no matter their relative size, into a nebulous opinion of the indeterminate masses. THIS is the most important part of the engagement bait, because tumblr users love to complain but aren't likely to do so to someone directly for fear of hurting their feelings or getting called out for being rude. If you can take a dissenting opinion and remove the actual user from the equation, people are far more likely to share exactly what they think about it-- this is when the "no reading comprehension" and "you people seriously think (X)" and "ugh I hate fandom" takes come out en masse. Tumblr users may be mean, but more importantly we are also cowards. In the case of the poll I posted above, even extremely small minority opinions were being commented on in almost every single reblog, despite the fact that these opinions made up less than 10% of the votes for a majority of the poll's run.

More buzzwords, less nuance Buzzwords and a lack of nuance work together to make engagement more likely-- buzzwords are often both overused and misused, while a lack of nuance (typically in the form of a yes or no question) eggs people into explaining themselves. Combine these two and you add people justifying themselves, arguing with others, and complaining about the buzzword in general into your reblogs, boosting your numbers even more. In my case, I chose the lowest of the low when it comes to poll topics: "Is (recognizable character) (buzzword)?". How people fell for this twice I'm not sure, but it works!

If things are getting boring, stir the pot yourself You can use alt accounts or just make up tags yourself, but I was too lazy to do this. However, there's always the option of cherrypicking-- screenshot outlandish or dissenting tags, even if it's just one in a sea of hundreds, and post that in a reblog with an incredulous caption. Bringing tags to the attention of the majority invites new focus on those tags AND your poll, giving people another outlet to add their takes. Some people will likely even reblog it Again.

Now that the bait is set, watch people in your notes talk over themselves like a flock of seagulls

Congrats! You've now made a successful bait poll. Fortunately or unfortunately, mine worked so well that people fell for it twice, both of them got thousands of votes each within the day, my notifications are overflowing, and popular blogs have made posts referencing it. Point proven, hypothesis verified. As they say: easy website.

[enigmatist17]

Part 1

It had taken three days before the last bot transformed like the others, startling the only human who had come with the initial greeting party. Lennox watched metal shift and slide into place to form a bot just a bit taller than Ironhide and Ratchet, massive doorwings twitching as they took in sensory information from the wooded area around them. It took a moment before they seemed to register the soldier close by their pedes, the bot kneeling down to regard the human with a faint tilt of their helm.

"Major Lennox, it's nice to meet you." The Cybertronian continued to stare at the human in complete silence, and it took him a second to register that he was most likely scanning the internet to learn their language.

"Lead Autobot Military Tactician Prowl." Prowl's voice was hollow as he finally responded with a British accent, the prominent red chevron situated on his forehead glinting in the sun as the bot looked around. "Status of Bluestreak and Perceptor?"

"They're both fine and with the others, they wouldn't leave without you." He motioned down the small path behind him. "We've been taking shifts guarding you."

"I see." There was a flash in Prowl's optics for just a moment before he leaned down a little further, eyeing William with an intense expression. "Major Lennox, I have a query."

"Feel free to call me Will if you'd like, but ask away." Lennox moved to grab the small stool he'd been sitting on alongside his book, tucking both under his arm as he looked up at Prowl.

"Were you present when my bonded was killed in combat?" Will jerked in surprise at how cold the question was but his face softened with sympathy.

"I was, fought alongside him to protect the Allspark. He fought to the end, for what little it's worth to you, tore half of the asshole's face off before..."

"I understand." Prowl stepped back, looking away from the human and out toward the alien landscape he'd landed in not many solar-cycles ago, clawed servos curling into fists. It was silent for a moment, before the bot let out a noise that Will could only describe as pain, optics going dark as they cycled off. It was barely a minute later when Ratchet and Optimus hurried up toward Prowl, the medic motioning for Lennox to leave as he pulled out a scanner, slipping into Cybertronian as he approached the tactician. The tone was surprisingly tender as he stood in front of Prowl, not even seeming to register when clawed hands latched onto and into the medic, Prowl dissolving into strained chirps and clicking noises Lennox hadn't heard from most of the other bots save the newcomer Bluestreak.

"Come, let us leave Ratchet to his work." Optimus shook his head, offering his hand for Will to climb onto, which the major never got tired of as the massive Cybertronian headed back down the path with a weary look. Bluestreak had apparently found a form that pleased him, his smaller red chevron off-setting the black and grey coloring from his scan of a Datsun 240Z Render, the bot's own large doorwings twitching as they watched Optimus approach.

"I take it our superior officer has returned to his senses?" The shorter red bot looked up from the rock they had been examining, the telescopic optic shifting back to normal as the rock was carefully placed on the ground. By day two on Earth, Perceptor had been practically pestered to pick an alt form, and the major had been highly amused when Ironhide had dragged the scientist away from their inspection of some moss to do so. "I did my best to stabilize him, but a medic I am not."

"You did well, old friend; Ratchet will take it from here." Optimus pat Perceptor's shoulder while carefully placing Lennox down in front of them, shaking his helm with a slight vent.

"He asked about you when he was situated, for what it's worth." The human of the group nodded, the scientist and sniper sharing a look as Ironhide joined them. "You figure out what kind of alt Prowl might like?"

"I believe something along in a similar vein that Bluestreak chose will suffice," Perceptor replied as they knelt down, Lennox rolling his eyes when the bot poked his hair while muttering something to himself in Cybertronian. "There are quite a few alt modes used by the Enforcers on this fascinating planet, which I cannot wait to keep studying."

"So you keep saying. I have to tell you, I know a few eggheads you're going to get along with just fine."

"Egghead?" Lennox snorted as Perceptor tilted their helm in question. "It is a term of endearment?"

"Close enough. I'll radio ahead to let N.E.S.T know we're going to be heading out when Ratchet is done with Prowl." Will walked away to call up the organization, relaxing when Ironhide covered his back without a word. "...I'll call Sarah too, Annabelle might be a great distraction."

"What's an Annabelle?" Bluestreak questioned, having seen an honest to Primus smile cross the weapon specialist's face. "Do we all get one?"

"No, Annabelle is William's protoform, and he does not have any others." Ironhide grumbled. "No, you cannot claim her either." Will snorted from behind the Autobot as he checked in with command first, practically able to hear the tension on the other end of the line as he gave his report on Prowl, followed by explaining he had not come alone. The Autobots who had been pretending they had not been listening in joined the call all at once, voices overlapping each other until Lennox let out a sharp whistle, silencing them all at once.

"I get it; you're all excited, but save that for when we get back." He rolled his eyes, wondering why he sometimes felt more like an adult than literal aliens older than his race. "Just do me a favor and clear our more...off-putting civilians, Prowl needs space to adjust."

"Will do; safe travels and we'll see you soon. Want me to call up Sarah for you?" Epps asked, and Will chuckled softly.

"Both of them, Annabelle will be good for morale. See you soon, and make sure the kids play nice." Epps laughed before hanging up, and Lennox set about packing up his camping gear to be prepared before Ratchet and Prowl finished up.

He and everyone else miss the tiny sliver of metal that falls from one of his bags, distracted by Prowl and Ratchet's arrival. It remains in the grass as Optimus greeted his third-in-command with a bowed helm and short bow, and the tremble in Prowl's doorwings is his only visible response as he bows back. Optimus explains the basics of Earth as Lennox adds on when needed, and Prowl only nods as he stands at attention, optics blankly looking at his allies as the Prime moves to prepare the trailer he'd brought with.

He notices the sliver right before he moves to join the rest of the group, leaning down to gently grasp the piece. It seems to buzz in his hold, and for a moment, Prowl stares at it before gently placing it into his subspace.

It was time to focus on other things, and with a soft click, he joins the others who wait for him.

[somedaylazysomeday]

Experiment - Part Two

Tech x fem!reader

Tech decides to prove how simple female bodies can be.

Can be considered a second part to my one-shot 'Experiment', but can also be read as a stand-alone work.

Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 3,800

Warnings: Antagonism, ill-advised bets, assumptions about females, mentions of sexual behavior, sexual touching, fingering, unprotected piv sex, creampie

Previous | Masterlist

---

It wasn’t rare, per se, that you and Tech found yourselves alone. 

Your relationship could be contentious, but it wasn’t anything bad enough that you needed to keep a referee on hand. You found him slightly grating and he thought you were oblivious at times. You also vented some of that low-level irritation by sleeping together every so often, but you had never decided to be anything close to exclusive. 

That being said, Clone Force 99 was busy enough that neither of you had much time for finding another partner. It had been a particularly bad dry spell for you. Which was why you were unashamedly eavesdropping on a few troopers behind you in a market on Savareen.

“Anyway, I told her I wanted to bring someone else with us and she freaked out,” one of the troopers was telling his friends. “She said I wasn’t even good enough to keep her happy, let alone two people at the same time. Can you believe that? Not my fault that making her come is harder than defusing a det on a countdown timer”

Thankfully, you were facing the other direction, because that made you grin broadly. From everything you had heard so far, the relayed statement from the trooper’s girlfriend had been harsh but true. The trooper was a remarkably selfish lover if his stories were to be believed. Personally, you thought the girlfriend had a point. 

“Are you almost finished?” Tech asked. “We need to return to the ship.”

“Shhh!” you hissed. “I want to hear how this plays out.”

You couldn’t be sure whether the troopers had heard you or if they simply weren’t bold enough to tell their friend that his girlfriend was right. In any case, the only answer they offered was a simple, “That sucks, man.”

“Yeah,” the other agreed. “Females are a mystery.”

“We will miss our rendezvous,” Tech warned. 

You huffed at him and went to pay for the basket of produce you were holding. After weeks of nothing but rations, the prospect of fresh fruit and vegetables was something you couldn’t turn down. Still, you were irritated at losing your stolen entertainment and you glared at Tech when he fell into step with you on your way back toward the Havoc Marauder. 

“I don’t know why you were rushing me,” you said eventually. You were passing the last of the small town’s buildings and the forest grew thicker around you. “Hunter sent a comm that the window needed to be pushed back by an hour. They won’t be at the rendezvous for at least two hours and we’re not that far from the ship.” 

“And I don’t know why you were so eager to continue listening to those regs.” Tech shook his head. “It was hardly an interesting story, especially given the trite and untrue assurances at the end. Females are hardly a mystery.” 

Your jaw twitched. “And what exactly does that mean?” 

“Females across most species barriers share several characteristics,” he spouted instantly. “The majority of them prefer to be listened to rather than have their problems solved, prize social bonds rather than holding leverage over others, and are often capable of more complex, circuitous thinking than most males.” 

“They were talking about female bodies, Tech.” 

Tech fell quiet at that. You gloated for a moment, happy to have silenced him for once, but it didn’t last. Apparently, he had needed a moment to consider that, but came back with a reply soon enough: 

“There are too many species to narrow down what he was talking about. Different species have different physiology, and need different stimulation to achieve pleasure.” He adjusted his goggles, and you could see the brightness of his eyes behind them. “For instance, did you know that female Dianogas derive pleasure only from having the pressure in their eyeball increased by a factor of twenty percent?” 

You nodded slowly. “Gross.” 

Tech had been preening at his masterful display of knowledge, but his expression dropped into one of derision when you failed to be as impressed as he thought you should be. “It is far more complex a system than is possessed by most species. Humanoid species are all similar. And human females are the least complex of all.” 

That sounded as if you were being challenged. With the frustration stemming from your recent dry spell and the general irritation of being around Tech when he was in one of his ‘I am the god of all knowledge’ moods, you accepted that challenge. “Go on.” 

“Human females share close similarities to each other, likely stemming from a narrow evolutionary path. Even ignoring the genitals, human females have a set of several extragenital erogenous zones. They are, in descending order: breasts, lips, neck, ears, and buttocks(1).” 

You rolled your eyes, readjusting where your bag sat on your shoulder. “That’s ridiculous. Not everyone likes having all of those places touched.” 

“Not everyone, but a majority,” Tech expanded. “And the type of stimulation can vary between each place. For example, lips are best stimulated orally while breasts can be stimulated either orally or manually. That means manipulated by hand.” 

You hissed at the condescending explanation, but he paid no attention to you. Tech could get this way when he was convinced that someone would benefit from his knowledge. “And that is not taking the actual genitals into account. The human clitoris has over ten thousand nerve fibers, some of which extend into the vaginal channel to form what is known as the g-spot.” 

“I already knew all of this, Tech,” you bit out. Okay, maybe you hadn’t known the exact number of nerve fibers in the average clit, but you didn’t appreciate being lectured on your own body. 

Tech turned to you, raising his eyebrows. “And yet you believed those troopers were correct when they said human females were a mystery. There is nothing mysterious about the body of the human female. If given the proper stimulation, most human females can reach orgasm in under three minutes.” 

“That can’t possibly be true.”

“Are you doubting the research or my knowledge of it?” 

“Are you admitting that you’ve done research into how quickly you can make someone come?” you countered. 

“Of course.” Tech was, as ever, matter-of-fact. “And you personally have benefitted from my research. Yet you still doubt whether I’m correct.”

“I’ve been with some talented people,” you said, making sure to emphasize the plurality so he wouldn’t think you were solely talking about him, “but I’ve never come in less than three minutes. So, according to my personal experience, you’re wrong.” 

“I am not wrong,” Tech disagreed, clearly appalled. “If you don’t believe me, that is your choice, but I am not incorrect.” 

You didn’t answer him, relieved when you saw the Havoc Marauder just ahead. As you had expected, you had plenty of time before you needed to go meet the others, but that meant you could put away the provisions and get some time away from Tech until he started to annoy you less. 

Unfortunately, he didn’t seem capable of letting your disagreement lie. He followed you as you went to the storage room where you kept the rations. “The research is simple and well-supported. Even if you ignore anecdotal evidence, there are clear trends that prove-”

“Tech, can we just let this go?” you asked, trying not to sound overly antagonistic. “We can just agree to have our different opinions.”

“It is not a matter of opinion,” he insisted. “There is a single answer, supported by science, research, and experimentation. I can prove it to you.” 

That made you pause and turn to him. “What? What exactly do you mean by that?”

“Allow me to prove that I am correct,” Tech repeated. 

That was not enough of an answer, so you watched him in silence. There was a strong chance that he meant to show you the papers and studies where he had gathered his information. 

When you didn’t agree, Tech apparently decided to offer more of an explanation: “If you agree, I will use the knowledge I’ve gained to bring you to orgasm in under three minutes.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea-” you started. 

“I understand it can be frightening to have one’s worldview challenged-”

“Yeah, I’m terrified of an orgasm.” The sarcasm was thick in your voice. “You know what? Fine. And when you’re wrong, you’ll have to admit that your research wasn’t as effective as first-hand experience.”

“I look forward to proving you wrong.” Tech took the bag from your shoulder, tucking it neatly inside of the (little-used) produce cabinet in the ration storage room. He latched the cabinet with sure motions, turning expectantly to you when he was finished.

“Bunks,” you suggested. He inclined his head in agreement and followed you to the small barracks aboard the ship.

You shoved aside your sheets and the discarded clothing that was still tangled in them. When you had woken up, it had seemed impossible that you would be bringing anyone back to your bunk, so you hadn’t bothered keeping anything neater than they needed to be. Tech was more than a little messy, himself, so you didn’t worry that he would look down on you for it. 

“How do you want to do this?” you asked, hesitating before you climbed onto the mattress. 

“I do not believe that you undressing should count toward my time,” he pointed out. 

“Fair enough,” you agreed, stripping quickly. You had been dressed casually to visit the nearby market, so the process didn’t take long. When you were naked, you rested your hands on your hips and tilted your chin at Tech. “Next?” 

Tech swallowed hard, like the sight of your bare body had made his mouth go dry. It was a heady feeling, and your confidence soared. 

“Remember what I told you about extragenital erogenous zones?” Tech asked, switching into lecture mode. 

“Yes,” you agreed, adding, “which is not an attractive term, so I don’t think you’re helping your own case, here.” 

“The attractiveness of the term is not what matters.” Tech stepped closer, hand rising. “The important thing is how they impact you.” 

You opened your mouth to loose a sarcastic comment, but stopped short at the feeling of Tech’s fingertips brushing lightly against your bottom lip.

It was… odd, having someone touch your mouth. But the warmth and familiar smell of Tech's skin kept you where you were. You would at least let him have his chance. 

His hand went to your chest, fingers splaying to cup your breast. When you were nestled in his palm, he trailed his fingers together, letting your breast slip under his fingers until they met with a soft pinch on your nipple.

Tech's head tipped closer, letting him mouth at the line of your throat. Those lips traveled upward until he could scrape his teeth lightly over your earlobe. You fought a shiver. 

And then you did anyway, shuddering against him when Tech reached to run his gently squeezing fingers across your ass. 

“Breasts, lips, neck, ears, and buttocks,” he murmured. “Slightly out of order, but have I managed to convince you?” 

“You've managed to waste thirty seconds of your time,” you replied, fighting to keep your voice almost steady. “Two and a half minutes to go and I'm not anywhere near an orgasm.”

“Patience.” 

You frowned at the chastisement, but Tech paid no attention. He guided you down to lay on your bunk, feet on the edge of the mattress supporting your half-bent legs. It left your core exposed to the chill of the air on the ship, and you abruptly realized that those simple touches had left you wet. Not soaking, but well on your way there. 

You watched between your own legs as Tech studied your core. He seemed to be plotting his methods. Before you could remind him again of the time requirement, he brushed gentle fingertips over your labia. 

It felt more intense than you could believe. And when that delicate touch moved to caress your inner lips, you shifted your hips impatiently. 

Tech's attention turned to your clit. His first brush over it was so light that you could hardly feel anything, but he soon grew bolder in his touches. He worked you faster and faster, pausing only to sink two fingers deep into your channel. 

You arched against your bunk, a shocked and plaintive cry leaving you before you could even try to bite it back. 

“Good,” Tech said softly. “I want to hear you. Let me hear that you like what I'm doing.”

You weren't entirely sure how you would have responded to that, because Tech crooked his fingers inside of you and started hunting. Deliberately, he mapped your channel until he zeroed in on a rough, spongy patch on the inside of your front wall. 

A slight smile appeared on Tech's face. You had a moment to think about how handsome it made him before he stole your ability to see. 

He bore down on your g-spot, putting pressure on it until you cried out again. If you had the ability to remember words, you would have told him that it was too much. 

Tech hummed in understanding anyway  and shifted his efforts. His thumb worked against your clit as his fingers started a circular sort of thrusting motion. Your g-spot was still getting more attention than it ever had, but it managed to be less direct - and with that, less intense. 

Just when you started to wonder how close you were to three minutes having passed, Tech's mouth dropped to your hip. He applied lips and teeth to the sensitive crease where your hip met your thigh. 

Your orgasm rose up and swallowed you whole, and you never had a chance to fight against it. One moment, you were treading water in the assault and the next, you were drowning in sensation. 

Dimly, you became aware of the fact that your fingers hurt. With that realization, you came slowly back to your body, letting your stiffened fingers uncurl from where they had been fisted in the sheets. Your thighs unclenched, releasing Tech's hand from where it had been trapped between them. 

His fingers were still working gently inside of you and you gathered your strength to push him away. “How… how long?”

“Two minutes and forty four seconds,” Tech informed you, sounding obnoxiously matter of fact about it. “It likely would have taken less time if I had not stopped to test my understanding of extragenital erogenous zones.”

You would be irritated, but the strength and suddenness of your orgasm had left you largely unable to do anything but stare up at the ceiling. The heaviness of your limbs felt strange without a full buildup of activity, and it almost seemed as if your body was in a state of shock at how quickly the pleasure had been pulled from you. 

“Tech, can- can you-” you trailed off, reluctant to ask him for anything else. Eventually, you settled on, “Water?”

“Of course,” he agreed, instantly on his feet and rushing to get you a canteen.

When he handed you the water, you could watch Tech eyeing how long it took you to accept it, then to raise the canteen to your lips. Even so, he waited until you had finished drinking to ask, “Is something wrong?” 

You lifted one shoulder. “I- no? I don’t think so. It was just weird to come that suddenly. It’s like my body is pissed that there isn’t more.” 

“Do you want me to do it again?” Tech asked. 

You searched for sarcasm or mocking in his tone, but there was only patient curiosity. “Can you.. kiss me?” 

“Gladly.” 

He pressed a kiss to your lips. Then another, kneeling on the bed to reach you more easily. Eventually, he was lying on the bed beside you, all so he could kiss you without putting either of you in an awkward position. One of his hands gently cradled your cheek while you pressed a palm to his chest so you could feel the steady thump of his heartbeat. 

You continued far longer than you had expected, past the solace of a simple kiss and into the realm of need. You didn’t think it was entirely one-sided. Maybe the kiss had started for your benefit, but nothing said Tech couldn’t enjoy it, too. 

And he did. You could tell by the way he squirmed closer, by the heat of him pressed against you, by the steady deepening of the kiss you shared.

“Is this helping?” he asked. 

His eyes were bright with desire, a faint but undeniable rasp edging his voice. Maybe you should let him ask, to help assuage your pride. But you took pity on him instead. “Yes, but it might help more if you made me come again. Slower. The old-fashioned way.” 

Tech started to ask what exactly ‘old-fashioned’ meant. You could hear the question rise behind his parted lips. And yet it faded away before it could be asked, answered by the way you gripped his length through the material covering his lower half.  

His breath shuddered out and his hips twitched, but Tech still asked, “Are you certain-?”

“Yes, if you are.” 

Tech’s response to that was to reach down and grasp the back of your leg, tugging your knee up and over his hip. You were both still cradled by your mattress, but he was perfectly between your thighs. 

“You are stunning,” he told you. 

“You’re still dressed,” you told him. 

Tech paused, glancing down with a mixture of irritation and dread. “A problem I intend to fix momentarily.” 

He pulled away from you, rolling to his feet with his hands already working at the fastenings of his body glove. He had stripped it off in moments and you couldn’t help but be impressed at the efficiency of his movements.

When he slipped back into your bunk, he was all tan skin and subtle musculature. Tech arranged you both the way you had been before the interruption and, without the body glove in the way, the head of him was notched at your entrance. You were noticeably wet from your earlier orgasm, and he started to slip into you simply due to the position and your proximity. 

Tech’s voice was completely unsteady as he asked, “Precisely how slow do you want this to be?” 

“More than three minutes.” 

It may have been a dry witticism, but Tech accepted it like it was the most sincere request he had ever heard. And you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it, not when he pushed into you in a series of shallow thrusts.

When he had bottomed out inside of you, Tech reached to brush a bead of sweat from your temple. “Slow.” 

“Slow,” you confirmed with a nod. 

Tech began to move. He stayed deep inside of you for the most part, using tiny pulses to keep you building toward a reasonably paced orgasm. Occasionally, when he couldn’t help himself, he withdrew further and plunged back into you. Each of those thrusts pushed the breath from your lungs, shocking you no matter how often they happened. 

It wasn’t the frenetic sprint toward pleasure that you had experienced before. Rather than having pleasure ripped mercilessly from your system, Tech’s efforts were coaxing it from you. 

His pelvis rocked against yours, pushing and pulling incrementally inside of you. The bunching of his muscles against your body told you how much he was holding back even as the thick press of him stretched your channel. Compared to the jarring shock of your rushed orgasm, this pleasure felt utterly lazy and self-indulgent.

And you didn’t seem to be the only one who thought so. 

When Tech wasn’t watching you intently, his eyes fell closed and his brow furrowed as if he needed to concentrate so he could process everything he was experiencing. After one particularly deep pulse, your body tightened. It wasn’t your second orgasm - not yet - but it was a warning that another one was coming. 

Tech’s eyes flew open and he made a rough, helpless sound. Ridiculously, that was the thing that finally pushed you over the edge. The fact that you could pull such pleasure from him even without the extensive research he had done into erogenous zones - genital or otherwise - made you feel extraordinarily powerful. And, of course, it didn’t hurt that he was such a gorgeous man. 

In any case, you gasped a warning a half-second before your body clamped down around his. Tech kept going, working you through it, and it only pushed you higher. The pleasure went from silver to a blazing white, blinding in its intensity and almost painful. 

It was hard to come down when Tech’s rhythm was speeding up, but you could tell he was close by the wrinkle between his eyebrows. “Where-?”

“My implant is still good.” 

Tech’s lips parted and his brows furrowed, but you couldn’t see any more of his face than that. By the time he started to spill inside of you, he had buried his face in your neck. His arms wrapped around you, squeezing hard enough that it took extra time for you to catch your breath. 

When the desperate thrusts finally stopped, Tech fell utterly boneless against you. You sympathized as you slumped against the bed. You dozed lightly, rousing only when you felt him pressing his lips against your shoulder. 

You chuckled lightly, glancing down just in time to catch his eyes flicking up toward you. “You okay?” 

“Rather wonderful, actually,” he admitted, his lips still brushing your skin as he spoke. “And you?” 

“Good,” you said, wincing slightly as he moved against your core. “I’ll be sore, I think.”  

“I shouldn't be surprised.” Tech gingerly moved away from you, the stickiness of your activities trying to keep you together. “I'll see if we have any bacta.” 

“Bacta can't do anything about soreness,” you reminded him. Of course, as the Bad Batch's makeshift medic, he was well aware of the limitations of bacta. “Save it for the next mission.” 

Tech's head snapped toward you as your eyes widened. “The rendezvous!” 

Weak-kneed and as bare as the day he was decanted, Tech sprinted for the front of the Havoc Marauder. 

You braced against the shift of liftoff, then started gathering his clothing and a washcloth for him. Hunter would know what had happened, of course, but there was no need to be blatant.

---

Author's Note -

I can't remember if this is a first for me, but it's definitely in character for me as a person: I referenced an actual paper posted in 2016 to get Tech's information about the extragenital erogenous zones. I'm posting the citation below in case anyone wants to read it! I thought it was very interesting, even if you just read the abstract.

Thanks for reading! Feel free to let me know what you thought!

Younis, Ihab, et al. "Female hot spots: extragenital erogenous zones." Human Andrology, vol. 6, no. 1, Mar. 2016, pp. 20-26, www.ingentaconnect.com/content/wk/xha/2016/00000006/00000001/art00004.

[jewish-vents]

I wish we were allowed to be angry. Everyone else gets to be angry at us, and they aren't for the most part, directly hurt by us. Especially in North America, the majority of people have not been hurt by the Israeli government. I'm tired of having to walk by angry crowds and angry people who are angry at me for existing. I'm more tired that I'm not allowed to yell back. I'm not allowed to be angry at these people for protesting my right to exist-which is exactly what they do when they protest at the JCC or synagogue. I just- I need an outlet for this anger that's effective. One that actually addresses the issues. I'm tired of defending my right to exist and my right to my indigenous homeland. And I'm angry that I have to do it calmly, or not he taken seriously at all.

This!!!

Thank you for sharing this, it's so important that everyone be allowed to express their emotions, even their anger, in ways that are healthy and productive. It's sad and frustrating that Jewish people for some reason aren't allowed that. People keep talking about how we shouldn't tone police minorities and yet there is always a double standard when it comes to the Jewish community.

I hope you find a healthy outlet for your anger. Some ideas to consider: art, martial arts, working out, going to a rage room, venting to friends

[kissmetwicekissmedeadly]

:(

My ikevil monsterfucking fic.....I feel conflicted about it because

i didn't mean for it to be a multi-part story!! I only ended up making it like that because it was late at night and i was really tired and i only had 2 characters written... Since both the theme and the prompt were strongly related to October 31, I came up with the idea to separate it into three parts so I could still celebrate the holiday in this way

this led to me rushing the Incubus part and I feel so bad about it 😭 he ended up being not really recognizable and not really sexy AND IT WOULD HAVE BEEN OK IF IT WASN'T MY FAVE THAT'S THE INCUBUS. IT HURTS

then I realized all four characters seem rushed, I think!!! that's because originally this was meant to be a single fic featuring 12 different scenarios! I was trying to keep them short!

Now that I've decided on splitting it into 3 parts with 4 characters each, and Halloween has been commemorated, I told myself I could relax and take my time with the other two parts, writing them in as many words each as I see fit instead of limiting myself to a certain word count.

Fine. But that led to me holding back for 5 days now because "I have to do them justice." 🙃🙃🙃

I think the theme of the fic is the major problem here because it's basically 12 different AUs that can't be fully explored in this form no matter how I try to stretch out the individual parts. I'm afraid that it won't look satisfactory to me in the end no matter what

With all of this being said. PEOPLE LIKED PART ONE. I received nothing but praise, it's not like someone has complained about any of the things that I'm concerned about??? Not that they'd necessarily write it if they share the same thoughts as me, but....

Aghghghhhhh.... If you've read this far, don't worry about giving me advice or anything, I'm just venting in the void. I don't usually feel conflicted about what I write so I wanted to let it out, but I'm sure I'll resolve this issue in no time. In fact I'm writing part 2 right now, and it's flowing nicely!! I don't wanna linger on this for too long, I'm bursting with other ideas that are waiting to be written!!

[charlessmiths-wife]

Quick Cass Drabble

hi! so, recently I made a post about some Cassandra hcs of mine, and in them I mentioned how I think it would be super comforting to have Cass rub your back whilst you, well, vent to her. so - tonight I felt inspired to right a small drabble based on that. nothing major - just a drabble. hope you enjoy!

CW! discussions of past bad relationships

——————————————————————————

The door to your chambers creaked open, and you pulled the covers closer around you.

You didn’t want her to see you like this.

You and Cassandra had been dating for three months, and whilst things had been going well - you were still careful around her in some ways. You were fearful of messing up, showing too much emotion around her. This was something previous exes of yours had criticised, calling you “needy” for even wanting a listening ear after a bad day.

You didn’t want her to think you were needy.

“My Love? Are you awake?” Came her voice, a whisper amidst the darkness of the room, as she crept slowly over to the bed you shared, clambering into her side.

She watched you carefully, and you stayed still as possible - hoping she might give up and try to sleep, because you were fearful you might just cry in a moment.

“Are you… sleeping? You can talk to me if you’re awake… I know your day has been completely miserable.”

She wasn’t exaggerating.

Right from the very start, your day had been awful.

You worked with Lady Dimitrescu, helping her with her wine business. As part of your duties today, you were supposed to greet potential clients that Alcina was meeting with.

A simple enough task, had the clients not been complete asses.

To make matters worse, Alcina had been running an hour behind schedule, meaning you were forced to spend even more time than expected with those idiots - listening to all their exhausting demands and snarky comments.

You liked to think of yourself as a fairly strong person, but even the most strong of people have their limits. And your limit came a half hour into the extensive two hour period you spent with those ‘people’.

So, yes. Suffice to say you’d had a bad day - and now you were curled up in a ball in you and Cass’s bed trying desperately to suppress any emotions.

But as her hand traced softly along your arm, you began to worry that it would be tricky to keep your feelings down much longer.

Her head rest on your shoulder, Cassandra wasn’t a typically physically affectionate woman - so it meant that much more to you that she was trying this hard to make you feel better.

“Talk to me, my love..” She whispered.

That was it. That’s all it took.

You broke down sobbing immediately, turning around to press your face into Cassandra’s chest, heaving sob after sob out.

She held you softly, calmly hushing you and rubbing up and down your back.

“Oh y/n… I knew you weren’t really sleeping… talk to me, dragǎ mea..”

You spend the next ten or fifteen minutes ranting all about your day to Cass. Telling her all about the ludicrous demands of the clients, the sneers that were on their faces the whole time, and the horrible comments you faced. She stays silent beside you the whole time, tracing comforting shapes along your back and occasionally pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“And then… one of them implied the only reason I worked for your mother was because I was dating you. They joked I “slept my way to the top”..” You choke out through broken sobs.

Cassandra stiffens up beneath you, her hands temporarily stopping her comforting motions.

“Which one said that?” She asks, speaking for the first time since you began venting, her voice signalling the fury she felt.

“Dunno… I didn’t bother listening to their names. He had ginger hair, though, and a beard. Oh, Cass - I was so upset…”

“Shh… don’t worry, you’re okay now… I’ll see to it that none of those men ever step foot inside Castle Dimitrescu ever again. If they want to come out alive, that is.”

You chuckle.

“Wow, you really know how to comfort a girl.” You tease.

Cassandra giggles, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Sleep, my darling. You’ll feel much better in the morning.”

And so you fall asleep lying on Cassandra’s chest, feeling so much better for having let your feelings out - any concern for those men or what they said long since gone, as the only thing you think of as you fall asleep is the sound of her breathing.

[frankiebirds]

re one of ur last posts - what are ur nonbinary elle and spencer hcs?? :))

AH i actually dont have that many so a lot of these literally just came into my head. also i'm very sorry this mostly became "elle helping spencer realise he's nonbinary" headcanons, i'll have to think more about elle :((

this one is not my headcanon. i tried to find whose it is but for the life of me i cannot track it down, so if anyone knows please tell me so i can link them: they share a wardrobe. the only one who remembers which clothes initially belonged to which person is spencer, for obvious reasons. EDIT: got this from this post by @/spritehouse

elle has her shit figured out pre-canon but isn't doing anything about it because it's 2005. spencer does not have his shit figured out until after he gets with elle

well. he has it a little figured out. he knows there's something to figure out, he knows he isn't a cis man, but he's just like. i have way too much going on in my life already to think about that so i will ignore it <3 because that's worked out so well for him

pre-figuring his shit out, spencer is constantly (and largely unintentionally) mixing "menswear" and "womenswear". i really struggle to see a version of spencer where he and diana didn't experience serious financial issues after william left, and even as an adult, high-quality private psychiatric care like diana's is expensive. so, the majority of his clothes are thrifted (yes, i know about the $500 cardigans in later seasons. gifts from rossi <3) and he doesn't really care what section of goodwill he finds them in. so he's constantly wearing, like. a men's shirt under a women's cardigan over men's pants held up with a women's belt. post-figuring his shit out, this becomes intentional and he starts blatantly mixing styles. the kind of thing that gets him stopped in public by someone going "hey you know that's a women's...?" and he goes "yep! :D"

by contrast, elle, while she largely has things figured out, does not present the way she wants to for safety reasons. spencer helps her gradually feel more comfortable presenting the way she wants while she helps him figure out his gender stuff

as for reid's gender stuff, i think for a long time he's really overly fixated on labelling himself. the closest any label comes is bigender but that doesn't feel quite right and he has a lot of unnecessary angst about it. (not projecting at all shut up). eventually he's venting to elle one day about how he feels this and this and this about his gender and if he was to describe it he would describe it like this but he just can't figure it out. and then elle gets genuinely confused because it sounds to her like he very much has figured it out. it takes a long time for him to understand and accept that there isn't a magic word that will describe all parts of him, and he may never find one. and that's fine

elle does spencer's makeup. he looks in the mirror and cries.

penelope is the first person they come out to and she is DELIGHTED to have other trans people on the team. one more and they outnumber the cis people...

morgan is next. spencer says "we're nonbinary" and morgan says "is this like a 'we're pregnant' situation or are you actually talking about both of you" and elle hits him in the head. spencer immediately feels many times less anxious than he did before. i love u morgan

morgan asks spencer in private if he wants him to stop calling him pretty boy. spencer tells him to please never stop. calling him "pretty", an adjective usually used to describe women, paired with "boy" makes him very happy. with this in mind, morgan starts calling elle "handsome girl". elle pretends to be nonchalant about it, but it makes her really happy.

they never tell gideon. spencer can't handle the thought of him reacting badly. (gideon was under the impression that spencer was just closeted this whole time. oops!)

like i said, spencer REALLY likes being described as masculine and feminine in the same breath. when elle first introduces him to her friends, she says "this is spencer, she's my boyfriend" and spencer runs away to stim in private. elle's friends are very confused.

[mariaofdoranelle]

Cemetery Buddies

Written for @throneofglassmicrofics, prompt “Petrichor”

So, I wrote this today at the cemetery instead of the chapters I actually have to finish, because it felt too weird to write smut by my grandfather’s grave. I was there the entire afternoon and I kinda conjured this fic on the spot, but I really hope you like it!

Warnings: mentions of death of loved ones, quick mention of death by covid

Words: 888

Aelin’s picnic blanket did a good job of protecting her clothes from the dewy grass, but not from its gentle prickling on the exposed part of her legs. It felt peaceful, though. She got used to the silence, the soft ruffling of leaves and chirping of birds filling her days in the past two years.

Just her and her parents hanging out together, like old times.

The cemetery staff were even kind enough to lend her a beach umbrella in case the rain came back.

A delighted sigh. Don’t you love the smell of petrichor, Mom? Aelin echoed inside her head, because she still thought it was weird to talk to a grave.

She slid her crochet hat over her face and closed her eyes, feeling the nature surrounding her instead of watching this landscape of flowers and white stones she knew so well. Feeling the wind battle against the edges of her blanket and lose it when her weight overpowered its strength. The sunlight peeking from parted post-rain clouds burned in a delicious way the long stretches of skin her overall shorts left exposed.

She lived in Orynth, after all. Aelin and her parents always made a point to make the most out of summer, for however long this freezing city and its climatic crisis allowed them to.

“You okay there?”

Aelin lifted her hat from her face enough to take a peek into the outside world, but she didn’t need it to know it was her cemetery buddy.

Fully sat on the blanket now, she eyed the Heineken six-pack on Rowan’s hand with a smirk.

“Better now that you brought the good shit.”

He gave her a close-lipped smile and unfolded the two chairs provided at the entrance by the staff, since Mr. Fancy Pants preferred it over lying on the grass like Aelin.

To an outside observer, the difference between them is striking. Rowan in his dark suit and tie, brooding with that permanent scowl on his face; right by his side, Aelin’s in denim overall shorts, red top and crochet hat, being her usual fun, dazzling self.

Both hanging out together, sharing beer by their loved ones’ graves. What made them good friends wasn’t their differences, but how similarly they were miserable.

“So.” She cleared her throat and eyed the six-pack. “I guess things didn’t go the way you wanted at work?”

“Lorcan—“

She tilted her head, brows furrowed in confusion.

“The boss’ kiss-ass,” he explained.

“Oh, that guy.” Aelin said with a grimace. She did not like this Lorcan person, even if he had a friendship of sorts with Rowan. “Tell me what he did this time.”

Today, she was loosened up enough by the weather and the beer, and it happened that Rowan was also a little chatty as well. Sometimes they silently sit side by side. Sometimes Aelin doesn’t sit, she kneels on the grass and hums ancient Terrasenian laments, which her buddy raptly listens to. Sometimes Rowan starts venting about his lack of ability to keep his deceased wife’s garden, leaves for the bathroom and comes back with red-rimmed eyes.

It’s getting progressively less dramatic, though. During the majority of the last few months, they’ve been just talking and sharing snacks.

His wife and Aelin’s dad died of COVID at approximately the same time, four years ago—hence why their graves are so close together. Her mom ended up sharing a grave with her husband a while after, but Aelin and Rowan didn’t cross paths at the cemetery until a year and a half ago, when their respective visiting habits finally overlapped.

And at some point during visits to their loved ones’ graves concurrently, they slowly forged a friendship—emphasis on the slow part, and no thanks to Rowan’s closed-off personality.

However, their conversation was cut short when an employee signaled that they were nearing closing time.

“So…” Aelin let out a performative sigh to chase away the awkwardness of goodbye. “Same time next week?”

Instead of answering, Rowan pointed his phone at her face, squinted at the screen for several seconds, then retreated the device.

Aelin tilted her head. Care to explain? she silently asked.

Rowan had a soft smile while he studied whatever was on his screen, for a longer time than expected, then jutted his chin towards her face. “I’m sending my mom a picture.”

During one of the rare occasions Rowan’s mom visited Lyria’s grave with her son, they found Aelin alone under a merciless sun. The older woman was scandalized. She made Aelin stay under her umbrella, forced Rowan to walk the long stretch back to the reception and get another one with the staff, and in the meantime very surreptitiously asked Aelin what her favorite color was.

With a soft chuckle, she took off her crocheted red hat with white daisy patches, handmade especially for her. “Did you tell her how much I love it?”

“Only after the first few times you told me to. The woman’s already too smug.”

“As she should be!”

Aelin still hadn’t got used to it, the sound of Rowan’s laugh. Maybe he was different outside of the cemetery—she wouldn’t know—but now he had a lightness of sorts that showed itself more and more frequently as the days passed, and she could only be happy to witness this change in him.

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[total-drama-brainrot]

YOU. YOU'RE THE ONE THAT MADE REINA..

TAKE MY LIFE!

this sounds a whole like a request but do you have hcs for her and Ale??

they're "went through a traumatizing experience" buddies

(shh..I may or may not think that that cat is middle eastern and so has seen stuff..now I feel like I'm stereotyping the middle east my apologies)

Politely declining your life, since you probably need that for living purposes, but I'm super happy to hear that people like Reina!!

Considering Reina herself is a headcanon, I have a few ideas I can share!

The Burromuerto parents initially decided to give Alejandro the skrunkliest cat they could find to serve as a (not) subtle indication that they don't love/care about him as much as José, who got an objectively "nicer" pet. What they didn't anticipate was Alejandro being immediately smitten with the wet rag of a cat they presented him with, who he immediately names "Reina" - meaning queen.

When making the post, there were a few different mental images I had of Reina. For the most part I was thinking of that one video of the weird stray cat outside (because that video lives rent free in my head), but I also considered having her be some sort of street-worn Rex cat, like a Devon Rex, because they're the weirdest looking cat breed I know. And also because "Rex" is latin for "King", so it plays into the royalty motif she's got going on. But Weezerfan's and CuriosityCryptid's interpretations of her are so so great! I encourage everyone to just envision Reina how they want to!

Alejandro absolutely spoils her rotten. Reina starts out super skittish around the whole family, but Alejandro's the only person who has the incentive to work past her rational fear and get to know the sweetheart she truly is. As a result, the two of them become major sources of comfort for each other in the Burromuerto household. Reina becomes sort of an emotional crutch for Alejandro; he vents his frustrations to her and then smothers her in all of the suppressed love and affection he has in his heart.

Her initial skittishness stems from her time as a street cat, wherein she gained a lot of scars (and perhaps lost an eye or an ear, depending on how tattered you want to envision her). Keep in mind, despite being an absolute sweetheart, she's also feisty - a cat doesn't survive with as many battle scars as Reina has without being a fighter. Consequently, Alejandro gained many scratch marks in the early days of owning Reina before he gained a proper understanding of her temperence.

With all of the love and care she recieves, Reina quickly goes from being a mangy street cat into being a relatively normal looking cat, though her scarred appearence is far too distinguishable to mistake her for a normal housecat. Alejandro scrounges up money from his various competitions (and other unofficial odd jobs he works to build connections around his neighbourhood - the power of nepotism is a valuable asset after all) to buy her pretty collars and accessories and cat toys.

Alejandro had assumed that nursing Reina back to "presentability" would prove something to his parents. In fact, he thought Reina's whole existance was just another test from them to prove himself capable of caring for something dependant on him and/or being independant enough to be a pet owner (or something along those lines). So when he presents his parents with a well pampered Reina and is met with cold indifference, it hurts him quite a bit; didn't he do a good job? (There was no "test" or "challenge", his parents are just assholes.)

They're kinred spirits personality-wise. Both of them have gone through a lot in their limited years, and that unspoken mutual understanding helps them bond quickly. Reina also becomes just as vain as Alejandro once he starts buying her sparkly accessories and trinkets. Alejandro eventually learns how to empathise with other people through his experiences empathising with Reina.

Alejandro and Reina are equally as protective over each other. Reina hisses and swipes at anyone who causes her boy emotional distress if she's around to witness it, and Alejandro gets super jealous when other people try to give Reina attention - she's his cat. (Alejandro has issues with possessiveness and being second place, so having anything in his life as solely his is something he takes quite seriously.)

As for Reina's backstory? I didn't really think much on it other than "tattered looking street cat they found at an animal shelter", but again I'm happy for other people to interpret her as they see fit.